Perfect World
by Silvver Phoenix
Summary: Sequel to Bury the Hatchet. As a new school year approaches, Professor Weasley is called back to duty as an Auror. Hermione by his side, they are faced with preventing an ancient magic with the potential to destroy Muggle-kind from being unleashed.
1. Fate

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Disclaimer: So here we go again, with the stupid disclaimer. Let's just say I didn't own them last time, and I sure as hell don't own them now.

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Rating: PG-13, for some random swearing (won't be too bad, though), semi-violent situations, and for basically the fact that there is a boy, and the boy likes the girl, etc. etc.

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A Longer Summary Than The Other Summary: Tensions begin to increase in the wizarding world when a terrorist group, not unlike the Death Eaters, threatens to destroy the balance between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Former Auror, Professor Ron Weasley, is thrown back into action to prevent an ancient, powerful, dark magic from falling into the wrong hands.

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Author's Notes: I must be crazy. Oh well…here I go again! The first fic took me 8 months to write, and this one ain't gonna be any faster. ^_~ My biggest fear is that, after all the great reviews and positive compliments and stuff I got on Bury the Hatchet, this fic won't live up to all the expectations. But I'll try my hardest, so don't pelt me with heavy, blunt objects if this fic isn't as good as the last (sequels are never as good as the original anyway…or so I'm trying to tell myself.)

Just for a change of pace, and to try something new, unlike BTH this fic's in…da na na! Ron's POV!

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Warning: This fic will contain much R/H goodness. I'm not really an anything-else shipper, so don't expect to see Draco/Ginny or Malfoy/Dobby or Nearly Headless Nick/ Professor Binns. (Brownie points for anyone who can think of creative shipper names for the last two! Hehehe…)

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Warning #2: Please keep in mind this fic takes place about 8 years after Ron, Hermione, and Harry graduated from Hogwarts.

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Warning #3: It's highly recommended that you read Bury the Hatchet, this fic's prequel, if you plan on understanding anything. I don't plan to go into a detailed explanation of what you missed if you didn't read the last one (and reviewed!). Fin. ^_^

So without further ado, I present to you…

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Perfect World

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In times forgotten they were written,

Placed under lock and key.

Spread cross the borders of many lands,

Spread cross both earth and sea.

In their words dark magic was poured.

When spoken, the world shall see,

A dark hand unleashed to crush it's foes,

And set our people free.

***

Fate.

What a complete waste of four perfectly good letters. Fate was something unsuccessful people invented in order to blame their unsuccessfulness on something they couldn't control. Fate was a cheesy plot device in Muggle romance movies. Fate was a word in the glossary of a fifth-year Divination textbook. An evil, evil, fifth-year Divination textbook.

Ron Weasley believed that life wasn't simply a pre-made path that you had to blindly wander down. No; life was about choices, not fate. It was your decisions in life that determined what you made of yourself, who your friends were, and if you ended up happy or miserable.

Perhaps it was _luck_ that Harry Potter had sat next to him on the Hogwarts Express almost fifteen years ago. But definitely not fate. Harry made a _choice_ to shun Malfoy and his cronies and become friends with Ron back in first year. Harry and Ron made a _choice_ to try to save Hermione Granger from a club-happy troll back in first year. Even though she was a bit of a pill back then. Thus, the infamous trio was born. Choices, not fate.

It was the choices that they made, plus, of course, Ron's exceptional talent and intelligence, which had kept the trio alive throughout their years at Hogwarts. It was the choices that Ron and Harry made that had led them both to become Aurors, well-known and respected throughout the wizarding world. It was a choice that Ron had made which kept him at Hogwarts last year. It was a choice that Ron had made which meant that he could now call himself _Professor_ Ron Weasley, which, everyone admitted, had an very nice ring to it. It was a choice that Ron had made which brought him together with the same girl whom he and Harry had saved from a gruesome death, in none other than the girls' toilets, fifteen years ago.

Ron Weasley firmly believed that a person was responsible for their own fate. Either that, or he just didn't like the idea of not being in control of his life, as Hermione eloquently put it. This, of course, coming from the same girl who stomped out of Divination class in third year.

It was smart choices and good decision-making which determined your fate. Not a crystal ball, not some higher power, and definitely not some crackpot Divination professor.

Now Ron was faced with another choice. An extremely difficult one at that. But his decisions in life so far hadn't served him too badly: he had a caring family, a job he loved, the girl he always wanted, and free meals three times a day.

He stared into space, his mind working overtime, the decision he had to indefinitely make eating away at his very being. Taking a deep breath, he slowly lifted his head to stare into Hermione Granger's brown eyes.

"I will ask you once more, Hermione," he said slowly and seriously. "…What do you think would look better, the red or the blue?" Frowning, Ron held up two ties.

Hermione sighed impatiently and threw down her quill on the papers she was furiously scribbling away on. "For the last time, Ron!" she replied in an exasperated voice. "No…one…bloody…cares!"

The other members of the staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who were milling, reading, marking, and lounging around the staff common room, all stopped what they were doing in order to murmur their agreements.

It was the beginning of September - the Hogwarts term had only just begun, and most of the teachers, not to mention students, were in a foul mood after their lovely summer vacations had been so rudely snatched away from them. Ron was only just getting into the groove of teaching again; he'd only had to begin a school year as a teacher once before, and the adrenaline of his mission at that time, not to mention seeing Hermione again for the first time in seven years, had kept him going.

Now, though, he was starting to see why the beginning of the school year was often the dreariest for most of the teachers. He had had an amazing summer - half was spent at the Burrow, making up for lost time when he was an Auror, and could rarely visit family and friends for only brief periods at a time. The other half was spent on holidays in Greece with Hermione. His hideous sunburn was only now just fading into a mass of stupid-looking freckles on his still-boyish face, as the temperatures cooled considerably across Britain and the sun settled itself to hide behind clouds for the remainder of the year. But they were definitely worth it; it had been the best month of his life.

Ron ignored the rest of the staff, staring at the two ties and chewing his lip. He placed them carefully on the table he and Hermione were both working at, tilting his head slightly so as to properly judge them from all possibly angles. "I mean, the red definitely says 'Weasley'," the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher contemplated. "Yet the blue…it matches my own sparkling sapphire eyes _so_ well…"

"_'onestly_," a droning, heavily accented voice said from where it's owner was lounging in an overstuffed, forest-green arm chair. "You are worse zen a _woman_," Professor Renee Bouchard said in disdain, rolling his eyes.

Bouchard was currently the - hopefully temporary - replacement for Diana Drago, Hogwarts' cold, sarcastic Potions Mistress from last year. Professor Drago, of whom Ron had never been particularly fond (he went as far as blaming an assassination attempt on Albus Dumbledore on her the year before), had left after last year to pursue a career in Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror. Much to Ron's chagrin, after Diana's swift departure he had found out from Hermione that the raven-haired Potions Mistress had taken his place as Harry Potter's partner.

Thus, the staff of Hogwarts had the pleasure of spending the entire school year with a former Beauxbatons Potions Master, "Bright 'N Cheery" Bouchard. The snobby, egotistical, smug Frenchman had Ron almost pining for Diana Drago's cynical comments.

"Shut it, Frenchie," Ron snapped.

"Oh, it eez a knife to my 'eart when you taunt me so," Renee replied in a mocking tone, clutching his heart. Ron heard Hermione stifle a snicker. Whipping his flaming head back around, he glared at his girlfriend, who promptly returned to busily making up lesson plans, a look of innocence plastered on her face. Hermione had lesson plans made up for every day from now until June. Ron was currently free-styling it in all his classes.

"Honestly though, Ron," Hermione piped up after Ron's glare had slowly transformed back into a pensive stare. "God forbid you ever have to make an important decision in life if you're losing sleep over which tie to wear to your brother's wedding." She gave him her I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-about-everything-and-will-now-proceed-to-look-superior look, which, admittedly was extremely cute, but Ron refused to soften. Instead, he sighed impatiently.

"You don't understand, do you?" he asked carefully. "Percy is the very first Weasley to be married. My family will be amalgamating with another as he and his bride exchange vows and bind themselves together in holy matrimony. I am _obligated_, as his brother, to make a good impression on Penny's family, as very soon they will be incorporated into mine. Because God knows Fred and George won't." Looking important, Ron settled back into his chair.

Hermione stopped writing once again to glance up at the youngest Weasley male, frowning. "I didn't realize this meant so much to you," she said, sounding guilty. "I wasn't really planning on going all out…do you think I should buy something new to wear?"

Ron rubbed his chin. "Yeah, maybe you should, that one red dress of yours is kind of old…"

Professor Bouchard murmured something in French that sounded suspiciously like "idiot", carefully turning a page of the book he was reading in a melodramatic fashion.

"I'm _kidding_," Ron announced loudly, turning his attention back to Hermione and trying to think of a suitable, mushy line to say next. "You look beautiful no matter what you're wearing," he said, quite proud of himself. Hermione smiled brightly and, blushing while glancing around the room quickly, leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

Professor Bouchard sighed loudly from his arm chair. "Oh _please_, no one wants to see zat."

Angrily, Ron turned around and chucked the blue tie at him. Not missing a beat, Bouchard flipped another page, feigning obliviousness to the tie that had landed on his head.

"Red, then," Ron decided, turning back to Hermione. And that settled it.

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Hoorah! I know this chappie's not that long, but rest assured, the next one is a doozy. ^_^

Yay! I can't believe I finally finished the first chapter! (After _much_ revision.) I have like, six alternate first chapters, and I re-wrote this one like five times. Took me quite awhile. And that's the story of my life.

Alright, I'll be the first one to admit…Professor Bouchard was inspired by Michel from Gilmore Girls. I love Michel. So, forgiveness please from the makers of Gilmore Girls. I said inspired, not ripped off, so I don't think I have to write a disclaimer…

Now, here it comes…you must understand the horrific consequences of not reviewing. The world shall crumble to pieces, fiery demons will plague us all, and Dobby will return in the second chapter and dance naked at Percy's wedding. All of this if you don't review! **So you'd better!** Or suffer the consequences…

P.S. I know the little poem at the beginning was stupid and didn't make any sense, but it will later. I hope. Sorry.


	2. Trenchcoats and Berets

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Author's Notes: Ah, reviews. Wonderful, wonderful, reviews. I love it. Thanks for all the suggestions and positive feedback! I feel better now. ^_^

This chappie was incredibly fun to write and even more fun to proof-read (that was a joke…my spell-checker went nuts with the words "Weasley" and "Muggle"). Hope you all enjoy it!

P.S. Yes, this fic _is_ going somewhere. I know right now it might just seem like a bunch of random scenes thrown together, and if it does, please let me know; but it _is_ going somewhere. Rejoice.

***

"Mum, where's my bow tie?!"

"Hold still, Ginny, I almost have your hair up…"

"Forget it! It's hopeless!" 

"Mum, where's my _bow-tie?!_

"That's it! I'm not going!"

"You're going to miss your own brother's wedding because your hair won't co-operate?!"

"Yes!"

"Does _anyone_ here know where the bloody hell my bow tie is?!"

"Good heavens, Percy swore!"

"The apocalypse has come!"

"Save the women and children!"

"Shut _up_ you two! I - need - my - _bow-tie!_"

"Percy, I can hear you from the other side of the house! _What_ are you wailing abou - "

"Can't see the bride! Can't see the bride!"

"Penny, get out of here!"

"_Charlie!_ Do not eat those cookies, or so help me…"

"Why don't I just shave my head? It'd make things easier!"

"I should've gone with the blue…"

"Molly! The photographer's here!"

"Mum…where…is…my…_bow-tie?!_"

"George! Find your brother's bloody bow-tie!"

"I'm Fred!"

"Fine! Fred! Find your brother's bloody bow-tie!"

"Why do you always ask _me?!_ George never has to do squat around here!"

"I _knew_ I should've gone with the blue!"

"No, Ginny, not the curling iron!"

"Hullo, folks, I'm - whoa."

It was a chaotic sight that met the poor photographer on that momentous day in Weasley history. A sea of bright, fiery red hair. Penelope Clearwater stumbling backward out of the Weasley's tiny kitchen, attempting to shield herself from her groom's sight with a wooden cutting board. The loving groom, red-eyed and tousled-haired, searching wildly on his hands and knees under the table for a bow-tie. Two thirty-somethings stuffing cookies into their mouths, one extremely distressed girl furiously throwing a hot curling iron across the room, another curly-haired witch frantically whipping out her wand to prevent the curling iron from hitting the curtains and setting the house on fire, a sad-looking redhead staring at his tie, one plump, older woman who looked about as ferocious as a lion, her timid, stressed-looking husband, and two identical twins reveling in the pandemonium. All this, packed into the tiny kitchen of a tiny little house called the Burrow.

Thus, Percy Weasley's wedding day began.

"_Quiet!_" Molly Weasley shrieked at the top of her lungs. The photographer toppled backwards in surprise as a deathly silence descended upon the cluttered kitchen. Even the clock seemed to freeze as Ron's mother's fierce glare bore into them all.

"Percy, last I saw, your bow-tie was in your old room," Mrs. Weasley said through clenched teeth. "Fred, George, I don't care which one of you is which, go fetch everyone else and tell them the photographer's here. Bill, Charlie, put that tray of cookies back where it bloody belongs. Ginny, your hair looks fine. Hermione, try to breathe. Ron, no one cares about your tie. And hello, I'm Molly Weasley," the mother of seven said with an unsettlingly calm smile. The photographer slowly approached her, equipment in hand. Sidling through the crowd of people, he followed Mrs. Weasley outside, where Penny was now waiting.

"We'll call the rest of you when it's your turns," Molly Weasley said curtly. She disappeared out the door. There was silence for a moment.

"….Way to_ go_, Gin," Ron said accusingly. This prompted a whole new shouting match, Hermione to throw up her hands in the air and stomp out of the kitchen, and Percy to sit on the floor despondently, his head in his hands.

***

Despite the arguing, hair disasters, and frantic searches for articles of clothing, three hours and about fifty photographs later, Ron Weasley was sitting in a pew at his brother's wedding.

Of all the Weasley children, Ron never pictured Percy as the first to be married. He'd always assumed Bill, the oldest, would be the first to tie the knot, followed by the rest of the Weasley's in chronological order, excluding the twins, whom he was pretty sure would explode or something if they had to settle down with someone. And yet there he was - Percy Weasley, former Prefect and Head Boy of Hogwarts, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-Operation, fussy, bossy, and, Ron had assumed, completely incapable of a gushy emotion like love. Horn-rimmed glasses and all, Ron's brother was getting married. And irritating as Percy sometimes was, Ron suddenly felt a strange little twinge somewhere near his ribs as he realized the Weasley family would never be the same again.

Ron was vaguely aware of some music being played before Hermione hauled him to his feet. Everyone craned their necks as Penny and her rather pudgy father slowly and painstakingly made their entrance into the church.

Most of Penny's family were Muggles, and both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had made sure to be adamant about the Weasley family's behaviour. Though Penny's immediate family were, of course, "Muggards" (the term Fred and George had brilliantly created when referring to Muggles who were aware of the wizarding world), the majority of the people standing on the opposite end of the church had absolutely no clue that the group of fiery-haired people on the other side of the aisle were wizards. Though a few members of the Weasley clan looked a tad suspicious (Ron's third cousin Evan was wearing his tuxedo backwards, and his Aunt Holly was wearing Christmas tree lights and tinsel in her hair), they had managed to pass for Muggles so far. Hermione was filling Ron in on all the bizarre Muggle traditions for weddings as they were happening.

"Why's she wearing that thing over her face?" Ron whispered.

"It's a veil…when they get up to the altar, her father will flip it back to show her face," Hermione sighed, sounding very sentimental. "It's tradition."

"And why are they going so slow?"

"So everyone can see, and take pictures…it's tradition, Ron."

"And what's with the music? It sounds like a funeral march."

"It's not a funeral march, it's the _wedding_ march."

"Let me guess, tradition?"

"Of course," Hermione replied promptly. She suddenly held her finger to her lips as Penny's father gave her away to Percy. There was much sniffling in the crowd as Percy beamed and the two of them turned to face the priest, who began droning on about beloved deers or something of that sort. As they sat down, Ron watched his brother slowly reach out and grasp Penny's hand while the priest continued. A secretive sort of smile slowly lit up Penny's face as Percy caressed her gloved hand with his thumb. Another chorus of sniffles seemed to echo throughout the church. Ron furrowed his eyebrows as he watched a couple of the Muggle women start blubbering and crying quite loudly.

"What in the world?" Ron said in a hushed tone to Hermione, staring at the Muggles and shaking his head. "Why're they so bloody sad? They're getting married! It's s'posed to be - " but he abruptly stopped as he realized his shoulder was getting very damp, as Hermione was crying on it. Ron shook his head and put an arm around her, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

"There, there," he sighed. "Crazy Muggles," he added in an undertone, though it was not without a note of fondness.

***

"And then he said, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace,' and we just kind of sat there for a minute like someone was going to show up and crash the entire wedding," Fred was telling his date, a tall blonde who looked as if she'd stepped right out of a page of Witch Weekly. The Weasley twins, fame having gone slightly to their large heads after their Quidditch careers had really taken off, seemed to pick up new girlfriends every month or so. This month's models were named Lana and Marsha, and both seemed to be wearing the same short black dresses and the same vacant expressions.

"Really?" Lana said absently, staring at her nails. The female fascination with things that grew out of their fingers never ceased to amaze Ron. "Muggles are _so_ strange," Lana continued very loudly, in a whiny sort of voice. "I can't _believe_ your brother agreed to let them all come to his wedding." Ron distinctly saw Hermione roll her eyes in his peripheral vision.

"Hey, keep it down, will you?" Bill interrupted, glancing around the reception hall. Percy, beaming so much that he was practically glowing by this point, was greeting guests with Penny by his side, while his teary-eyed mother fussed over him in between guests. Most people were mingling a bit before dinner began, even though the wizards and witches in the room seemed to be keeping their distances from the Muggles. "Why don't you just yell out the M word for the entire party to hear? And try _not_ to look like you're superior to everyone else just because you can wave a wand, will you?" Bill added, looking pointedly at Marsha, who was watching a group of Penny's relations with a look of disdain. Ron grinned; you could always count on Bill.

Marsha shot Bill a dirty look, then turned to Fred, whom she thought was George. "I'm going to the powder room," she announced, and spun on her heel to march away.

"Okay!" George, who was halfway across the room, yelled after her.

"Oh, just call it the toilets like everyone else," Hermione muttered under her breath. "_Really._" Ginny giggled.

"Can't stand those types," Charlie piped up, shaking his head as Fred and Lana went to get something to drink. He made sure to keep his voice low. "Think they're better than Muggles. Snobs, the whole lot of them."

Sarah, Charlie's long-time girlfriend and now fiancée, nodded in agreement. "Penny's probably got more talent in her little finger than the two of them put together," she said, referring to the blonde duo. "And I'm sure her Muggle relatives could pull off a spell to make their hair all straight and shiny too," she added quietly, smiling wryly. "Some so-called Purebloods…like that Stark idiot they're always talking about in the papers. Thinks Purebloods are God's gift to the world…please."

The "Stark" idiot Sarah, quite outspoken in matters of…well, anything (and the Weasley's all loved her for it), was referring to was of course Dameon Stark, a fresh face in the wizarding world who had recently burst onto the public scene with a bang. A self-proclaimed Pureblood, and fervent supporter of the importance of wizard and Pureblood status, it was rumoured that he was considering running for Minister for Magic in the upcoming Ministry elections. He was well-known for critiquing the Muggle-related offices at the Ministry, particularly the Department of Wizard/Muggle Relations and Department of Muggle Security offices. "Waste of space, time, and money," seemed to be a popular phrase thrown around in the papers lately.

"Muggles, Shmuggles. Who cares?" Ginny contributed in a hushed voice as a group of Muggles strolled by.

"Sure. They're family now, and that's what's important," Ron spoke up, gesturing to Penny's relations. Charlie, Ginny, and Bill grinned and voiced their agreements. Evidently their father's often long-winded speeches about Muggle rights and ignorant, old-fashioned Pureblood attitudes over dinner hadn't been lost on the Weasley children. Hermione smiled proudly and squeezed Ron's arm in approval.

"Hullo there!" a loud voice to the left of the group suddenly boomed. Ron jumped despite himself, his hand automatically going to his pocket - where his wand was well-hidden - out of habit. But rather than a hag, troll, or three-headed monster, there stood a familiar-looking pudgy, balding man in a tuxedo. His face was shiny, and he wore a large, if not nervous, smile. Standing a little ways behind him were two men around Fred and George's ages, looking slightly uncomfortable with their hands in their pockets. They had identical mops of dark, curly hair.

"No need to ask who you all are, eh?" the pudgy man laughed, wiping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. "You must be Percy's brothers…and sister," he added, nodding to Ginny with another chuckle. "Albert Clearwater, Penelope's father…pleasure to meet you all!" he extended a moist, chubby hand, which the Weasley's and their respective dates all shook, exchanging introductions.

"Our brothers Fred and George seemed to have disappeared," Bill said apologetically.

"Don't worry, you're not missing much," Ron added dryly.

"Ha! Funny lot, you Weasley's!" Mr. Clearwater exclaimed, slapping his knee. Clearly he wasn't quite as prim and proper as his young daughter. He abruptly stopped chuckling and glanced around, then leaned in closer to the assembled group. "And I sort of mean _funny_ funny, too, if you get my drift…there's one chap 'round here wearing a trenchcoat and fedora!"

"Oh, that's our Great Uncle Maury," Charlie said quickly. "Not really right in the head, if you know what I mean."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Clearwater said knowingly, tapping his nose. One of the men standing beside him coughed, and he spun around, seeming to remember they were there. "Oh, of course, how silly of me! These are my nephews, Raymond and Clarence," Mr. Clearwater said jovially, as the two reluctantly stepped forward.

"How do you do?" Raymond said with a small smile.

"All this anti-socialness!" Penny's father boomed, shaking his balding head. "You'd think the red hair was scaring everyone off! So I thought I should start some mingling going on here, if we're all going to be kin," he said matter-of-factly.

"Too true," Ron agreed.

"Well, I'll leave you all to have a talk, then!" Mr. Clearwater finished, glancing over to where his wife was standing with Percy and Penny. "Pleasure to meet you all!" He bounded off, still mopping his brow, leaving the two Muggles standing there, looking as if they'd really rather rejoin the rest of the Clearwaters on the opposite end of the hall. Ron cleared his throat loudly to break the awkward silence, but it was Hermione who came through, as usual.

"So, are you from around London as well?" she asked politely. The Clearwaters lived in the suburbs outside of London, or so Ron had been told. He marvelled at the fact that Hermione had remembered this.

"Recently moved to Wales, actually," Clarence said shortly.

"Oh," Hermione nodded, smiling and taking a sip of the drink she'd been carrying around. There was a long silence once more.

"So, what line of work you two chaps in?" Ron asked brightly.

"Law," Clarence answered.

"We're both partners in a legal firm," Raymond added; he seemed to be making a bit more of an attempt than his cousin. "And you?" he asked of Ron politely.

"Teaching," Ron replied. Then, in an attempt to make his profession sound as impressive as theirs, he added, "At a teaching firm." He distinctly heard Hermione snort into her drink.

"Ah," Clarence said, glancing at Raymond.

"What subject do you teach?" the latter inquired.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ron responded promptly. Bill shook his head and Hermione excused herself and walked off, now giggling madly.

"Oh," Clarence said, puzzled, exchanging another look with Raymond.

"Er…you mean self-defense?" Raymond asked. "Karate and that sort of thing?"

"Yes," Ron answered quickly. "Yes, exactly." He elbowed Ginny in the ribs, who was snickering quietly. Hermione returned, looking slightly more composed.

"What form of self-defense do you specialize in?" asked Clarence, who clearly looked suspicious.

Ron could feel his freckled face slowly becoming hot. "Er…"

"You dare ask the master of his art?" a voice behind them said in a shocked tone. "He dares not speak it's name - it is both sacred and fantastic," the voice said solemnly. Ron didn't have to turn around to guess it's owner's identity, but there was no need, as Hermione suddenly shrieked it out for the world to hear.

"Harry!" she yelled shrilly, launching herself at the third member of the infamous trio. Harry Potter, decked out, surprisingly, in a suit and tie, nearly fell backwards as Hermione gave him a bone-crushing hug. Though it was utterly and completely unfounded, Ron couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy and possessiveness. But it disappeared quickly once Hermione had let go, looking both relieved and excited. Ron stepped forward to shake his former partner's hand, whilst rolling his eyes at him. Both Clarence and Raymond, now somewhat frightened as well as nervous, saw their chance and quietly escaped from the circle of wizards.

"Did you get my last owl?" Harry inquired, once he'd firmly shaken hands with and got a slap on the back from both Bill and Charlie. He was careful to keep his voice down at the word 'owl'.

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually show up," Ron shrugged.

"Oh ye of little faith," Harry countered, shaking his head. He glanced over at Penny's cousins, who had slipped back into the crowd of Muggles on the other end of the hall. Ron and Hermione followed his gaze.

"'Sacred and fantastic'," Ron said wryly. "Thought that was quite clever, didn't you? Made me look like a fool in front of those people…thanks a lot."

"Well, you obviously had absolutely no clue what you were going on about," Bill pointed out. Ron nonchalantly elbowed him in the ribs.

"I thought you were managing to make a fool out of yourself alone quite nicely, actually," Sarah said sweetly. Ron considered elbowing her in the ribs as well, but if there was one thing he refused to do, it was hit a girl, so he refrained.

"Goatee," Hermione abruptly said out of nowhere. It took a second for Harry to realize what she was talking about; once he had, the Boy Who Lived grinned and stroked the stubble on his chin.

"You look so…argh…_rugged_, Harry," Hermione said matter-of-factly, hands on her hips. 

"Oh Hermione, lighten up," Charlie said in an off-hand way. "It's the rough, rugged look. That's what's - " he made quotation marks in the air - "_in_ now." His fiancée slowly turn to stare at him, then burst into laughter.

Hermione still looked skeptical. "Do you _want_ to portray that appearance?"

"Ouch, harsh," Harry replied, clutching his heart in a Bouchard-esque move. Ron shook his head and took a look around his best friend. "So, where's the Dragon?" he asked dryly.

"Diana?" Harry responded, looking unimpressed with Ron's clever nickname. "I don't really think she's one for weddings…" Harry trailed off as he noticed Ginny, standing behind Bill and attempting to make herself look occupied by smoothing her dress over and over again. "Hey, Gin…" Harry said in a completely different tone of voice.

"Hi Harry," Ginny replied quietly, staring at the ground as her face became quite flushed. Ron looked from one to the other before Hermione cleared her throat loudly.

"Everyone's sitting down," she pointed out. "Shall we?"

Ron nodded and reluctantly followed Hermione to their table, where, much to his and their chagrin, his old friends Raymond and Clarence were already sitting. The two shifted uncomfortably and exchanged glances again as Ron and Hermione sat down. Clarence leaned over to the woman next to him and muttered something under his breath to her.

"Hullo," Ron tried. The Muggles nodded curtly then turned their attention to the front of the hall, where a rosy-cheeked Percy had grabbed a funny looking stick with a black ball perched atop of it.

"What's that?" Ron whispered, evidently too loudly, because Clarence gave him a funny look.

"A microphone," Hermione explained matter-of-factly, then shushed him as Percy began to speak.

"Hullo everyone!" Percy said loudly, swaying slightly on the spot. He jumped backwards as the microphone made an ear-splitting noise. He stared at it incredulously for a moment before chuckling nervously. It was apparent that he'd had a tad too much wine, or some other alcoholic beverage, and Penny seemed to be quite busy folding and refolding her napkin, shaking her head slowly.

"I'm Percy," the third eldest Weasley announced. Ron slapped his forehead and Charlie started laughing madly. "As you probably all already know! Anyway…yes! Thank you all for coming," he said very matter-of-factly. Penny seemed to have enough at this point, and leapt up to snatch the microphone away from her new husband.

"Yes, thank you all very much," she repeated formally. Percy stared at her, smiling in a goofy sort of way. Penny's eyes darted over to him, and she couldn't help but smile as well, looking at the ground. She cleared her throat as she put her hand in her new husband's. "We won't bore you with a long speech or anything like that, but we'd both especially like to thank our parents…my mother and father, Albert and Virginia, and my new parents," Penny beamed, "Molly and Arthur."

Penny's relations clapped politely while a deafening roar went up from the very enthusiastic Weasleys. Penny flashed a huge smile, and Percy grabbed the microphone from her once more.

"I'd also like to thank my boss, Mr. Crump, for coming!" he said into the wrong end of the device. "And we'd like to all wish him luck on the upcoming elections!"

More resolute applause from the wizarding folk, while most of the Muggles looked puzzled. Issac Crump, the current Minister for Magic, stood up and waved to everyone.

"Elections?" Raymond whispered to a frumpy-looking Muggle woman dressed in bright green, also seated at their table. "Which elections?"

"Let's eat!" Percy yelled. Ron applauded loudly to this, then looked expectantly at his plate. Nothing happened. He was vaguely disappointed as he realized that there were waiters and waitresses hurrying from table to table, dropping off food.

"What a waste of time," Ron murmured to himself. He jumped as a peculiar sound began to fill the hall. It sounded somewhat like plates breaking. Hermione stifled laughter as Ron glanced around, confused.

He soon realized that the sound was coming not from shattering china, but from many people loudly banging their forks on their glasses and plates. Ron looked to Hermione for help, but his unspoken question was answered as Penny pulled Percy to his feet and whispered something in his ear. Percy laughed and pulled his new bride towards him, kissing her earnestly. Everyone cheered.

"I like that tradition," Ron decided, grinning. He banged his spoon against his wine glass ceremoniously, then leaned in to his Hermione, who laughed against his lips as Ron continued banging. She suddenly shrieked as Ron's spoon went right through his glass, sending both wine and glass flying everywhere. The Muggles at their table immediately began whispering amongst themselves, the frumpy woman letting out a high-pitched giggle quite unbecoming of her. Hermione only stared at Ron's slowly reddening face before bursting into laughter. They both ducked under the table to clean up the mess.

"Can't do anything right," Ron muttered savagely, gathering up the shards of glass on his hands and knees. "They must all think I'm crazy."

"Oh well," Hermione said briskly, still trying to smother laughter. "At least you didn't show up in a trenchcoat and fedora." Ron shook his head, still muttering under his breath.

The rest of dinner passed quite uneventfully, even peacefully. Hermione and the frumpy woman seemed to have found something in common - both their parents were dentists - and were carrying on quite amicably. Good 'ol Clarence was even being slightly civil to Ron. Raymond went so far as to compliment him on his tie during dessert. In fact, Ron was beginning to believe that the wizards in the hall were going to pull off the night without any other incidents…when the dancing commenced.

"What ever happened to Laura and Maria or whatever their names were?" Hermione asked in amusement as Fred and George cut across the dance floor, wildly dancing with each other to the slow, romantic type song that was being played. Ron, who was simply enjoying the fact that Hermione's arms were tightly around his neck and her body pressed up against his, snapped out of it briefly. He glanced over at Fred and George, who were now doing a tango.

"Those girls? They probably left," Ron shrugged. "Don't worry…they'll buy new ones."

Hermione laughed and stood on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek, just as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley danced over. Mrs. Weasley's face was very shiny where patches of tears were drying, and she kept having to stop dancing to blow her nose loudly.

"Oh, Ron!" she sniffed, spotting her youngest son. "Hermione! Look at you two, pretty as a picture…"

Mr. Weasley grinned as his son turned a bright shade of red. His wife continued on, "First Percy, now Charlie…" she shook her hanky at the pair, smiling slyly. "You two will be next, mark my words!"

"Sure," Mr. Weasley teased. "One minute you're wailing about Percy leaving home and the next you're trying to marry off the rest of our children."

"Oh Arthur, be quiet," Mrs. Weasley laughed, hitting her husband on the shoulder. "It's just a matter of time…you wait," she said knowingly to the young couple. She blew her nose again, and Ron's father whisked his wife away.

Ron and Hermione's eyes locked then dropped to the floor, both of them smiling nervously. Ron pulled Hermione closer, feeling his warm hands slip on the silky material of the new, dark blue dress she had bought for the occasion. It matched his tie. Ron grinned to himself as Hermione rested her head on his shoulder.

"What a lovely wedding," she murmured in his ear. "Your mum and dad look overjoyed, Percy and Penny are adorable together…"

"Percy and Penny, Penny and Percy," Ron smirked. He started tracing circles on the small of Hermione's back with the hand he had around her waist. "And they'll wear matching outfits for the rest of their lives and have six children and two dogs, all of whom will have names beginning with the letter 'P'. Percy and Penny and Peggy and Perry and…hullo there," Ron frowned as the two of them danced past Harry's table. Harry and Ginny were the only two left sitting there, and seemed to be talking quietly and seriously. Harry looked pained; his tie had been loosened and his jacket was open as he ran a hand through his untidy black hair and leaned forward, speaking sincerely.

"What's the deal with that?" Ron commented bluntly. Hermione stepped back and stared at him incredulously.

"You don't _know?_" she said in a surprised, but superior kind of tone.

Ron sighed indignantly as he grabbed her round the waist and started slowly revolving on the spot with her again. "No, I don't _know. _What's going on?"

"Harry never told you," Hermione said in shock, shaking her head. "He was partners with you for seven years and he _never _told you…"

"No, Hermione, he never told me," Ron said impatiently. "Out with it, woman!"

Hermione glanced around, as if she was about to tell some dirty little secret, then leaned closer. "Harry and Ginny…well, they had a _thing_," she said cryptically.

Ron was glad Hermione couldn't see the look on his face. He stared forward blankly, unimpressed. "Alright, yes, and that means…"

"Well, after graduation, they wrote to each other a lot, and…I still can't believe Harry never told you!" Hermione interrupted herself in amazement. "And Ginny didn't either! Your own sister! I hadn't spoken to either of them in seven years as of last year, and I know, and you don't?"

"Okay, yes, we get the point, I'm a horrible person. Hurry up. What happened?" Ron said, half-annoyed that, as Hermione said, he didn't know about this alleged 'thing', and half-annoyed that she kept rubbing it in his face.

"Well they wrote to each other a lot after Hogwarts, apparently," Hermione continued in a dramatic fashion. Ron could tell she was loving the fact that she knew something about his best friend and sister that he didn't. "Harry finally realized, the great prick, that he'd had feelings for Ginny all along - surprise, surprise - just like I always told him."

Ron scoffed; he never remembered Hermione breathing a word about Harry and Ginny together. In fact, when were Harry and Ginny even thought of us a potential couple at Hogwarts? Sure, he and Hermione had been teased all of the time, but Harry and Ginny? Harry and his baby sister? Ginny had just had a stupid crush, that's all… 

"And then evidently," Hermione continued. "One Christmas when you two came home for awhile or something like that, they…" Hermione frowned, searching for the appropriate word. "…hooked up, if you will."

"What?!" Ron exclaimed.

"Shh, keep your voice down! Like I said, I'm surprised Harry or Ginny didn't tell you about it. Then again, maybe Harry didn't want to…" she trailed off thoughtfully.

"Go on…"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but he and Ginny had a fight or something about your…occupations," Hermions said in a forced sort of voice. It was only a few months ago that she and Ron had had the same argument - about the sacrifices, and responsibilities, of an Auror. Ron had given it up; because he loved teaching, and because he loved Hermione. But Harry would never give it up. He couldn't. That was just Harry.

" - and then Harry left without saying goodbye, and they haven't spoken since, or so I hear," Hermione finished.

"What a jerk…" Ron said bluntly.

"Well, I don't want to pass judgement on Harry, but…I mean, he wasn't very responsible, was he? Poor Ginny - " Hermione began to agree.

"…not telling me about all that. What kind of a best friend is he?" Ron interrupted, feeling rather betrayed. Hermione rolled her eyes. The two continued dancing in silence for the rest of the song, Ron closely watching Harry and Ginny over Hermione's shoulder. Ginny, obviously upset, abruptly stood up and began swiftly walking away, her dress swishing behind her. Harry jumped out of his seat and followed, calling her name.

"Jerk," Ron muttered again just as the music winded down. He and Hermione broke apart, the latter staring worriedly at Harry's retreating form.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" George's voice suddenly boomed from the microphone. He stared down at it in surprise, evidently taken aback by the Muggle device's power. A sly grin slowly spread over his face. "I have been asked to announce that it is now time to chuck the beret!"

"Bouquet, you idiot, bouquet!" Percy, who seemed to have sobered, hissed.

"Bouquet!" George cheerily corrected himself. "So…apparently, all the single ladies get out on the dance floor to catch a thing of flowers! Yeah!"

"What's going on?" Ron asked Hermione as she looked almost wistfully at the bunch of flowers Penny had been carrying around all night.

"Penny throws the bouquet in the air, and all the single women try to catch it," Hermione said dreamily. "And whoever does is - "

"So it's like a contest, then?" Ron interrupted, narrowing his eyes. He glanced over at Raymond, Clarence, Mr. Clearwater, and then Ms. Frump, as he had cleverly named her. Here was his chance to really impress them…by besting them at their own strange kind of sport. It would make up for all the stupid slip-ups he'd had before.

Hermione evidently saw the telltale gleam in Ron Weasley's eye, and shook her head slowly. "Ron…_single women_…" she repeated, but her warning fell on deaf ears. A stressed-looking Harry rejoined the two just as Ron determinedly stomped onto the dance floor.

"Ron!" Hermione tried again, half-laughing.

"What's he doing?" Harry asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"I have no idea," Hermione laughed, shaking her head. She held up her hands defensively as the two watched the fiery redhead. "I had no part in this. Let him do what he wants."

"Ready…" George yelled into the microphone. "Three…two…Ron? What the bloody hell are you - "

But the bouquet had already been thrown. Many anxious pairs of eyes followed the perfect arc it made in the air, then it's slow descent downwards, towards the eager hands below. One Muggle woman jumped into the air to catch the bunch of flowers, her fingers nearly grazing it…

But it was not to be; the woman shrieked as a black-and-red blur came out of nowhere, and tackled her to the floor. The two fell, taking quite a few other single women with them, and landed with a resounding thud on the dance floor in a tangled mess of limbs, clothes, and flowers. Hermione and the rest of the weddings guests stared in transfixed horror at the twisted jumble of limbs on the ground. Then, quite suddenly, a hand shot out of the confusion, triumphantly holding on to a quite sad-looking array of trampled flowers.

"Yes!" Ron Weasley's muffled voice shouted. "Ha! Caught it!"

It was amazing how fleeting his glimpse of victory became, as the entire hall burst into hysterical laughter.

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Hot damn, that was fun. I always wanted to re-visit my favourite Weasley's in Bury the Hatchet, but the opportunity never popped up. So I made it in this one. Yay!

Hm, I was considering writing a crazy review song…but it's late and my Biology ISU has fried my brain. Or was it Chemistry? I can't even remember anymore. Just know this: your reviews sustain me through this trying semester. Aw. Feel the love.

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Review!


	3. Duel of the Dates

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Author's Notes: Brownie points if you 'get' the title! Heh - I used the song Duel of the Fates in a presentation at school once. But then again, I also used the Captain Planet theme song once. So there you go.

See the review page for my long-winded author-like jibe. That's right folks, Silver Phoenix! She reads your reviews! She answers your questions! She makes random comments about _your_ random comments! Is there anything she can't do?!

Yes. Calculus. Thanks for coming out. ^_^

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"Now I know what you're thinking!" Professor Weasley shouted, furiously pacing the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The desks had been pushed aside (rather violently, by a spell on Ron's part) against the walls in order to give the class more space. The students, a collection of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, were all bunched together, pressed up against the wall and watching their teacher's pacing apprehensively.

"You're thinking," Professor Weasley continued, "that dueling is quick, right? Harmless! A simple disarming spell, and you're done. That's what you're thinking. Isn't that what you were thinking, Mr. McNeal?!"

The fifth-year Gryffindor shrunk against the wall. "Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking..."

"Well you thought _wrong!_" Ron hollered, pounding his fist on the wall and causing Hannah Longley to shriek and jump backwards, falling into one of the desks. "Dueling is about who - can - survive - the - longest. If you're in a duel with a qualified wizard, they aren't going to mess about with disarming spells! Oh no, they're much…" Ron narrowed his eyes, "…_much _too advanced for that. They'll hurl every curse they've got at you. Freezing spells, blinding spells, memory charms - and do you think you can _block_ every single one of those spells, Mr. O'Connor?"

Shaun O'Connor paused, considering this. "Yes?" he tried. He flinched as Professor Weasley banged his fist on the wall again.

"No!" he snapped. "Of course you can't! You have to be fast! Alert! Constant vigilance!" he roared. Ron suddenly stopped and blinked, having surprised even himself.

He had been in a foul mood ever since Percy's wedding. Not only had he succeeded in making a fool out of himself in front of his family, all those Muggles, and the Minister for Magic, but he'd also nearly given away the Weasley's real identities. As a horrified Percy explained later, no Muggle would have actually tackled someone during the throwing of the bouquet - it was supposed to be a fun sort of game. Plus, it was only for single _women_. Ron hadn't ever felt more humiliated in his entire life, and it was all Hermione's fault. She hadn't explained the concept of the game properly, she hadn't warned him it was only for women (though she _claimed_ she did, of course, which didn't convince him for a moment - he wasn't _that_ pig-headed, to have missed a warning like that), and, to make matters worse, she had laughed at him along with the rest. She'd stood there, and laughed. Both her and Harry. The worst part was, she still wasn't taking his anger seriously; Hermione seemed to think it was all a funny misunderstanding, and now some sort of joke. But Ron Weasley's pride had suffered a blow. And when Ron Weasley's pride suffered a blow…

"Good heavens, _what_ is going on in here?" Hermione's voice called as she stepped into the classroom. The door had been left open. Narrowing his eyes, Professor Weasley spun around, glaring dangerously.

"Oh, hello Professor Granger," he said coldly. "Why, I was just pointing out that O'Connor here is an idiot. Now _if _you'll excuse us…" Behind him, the students gave Professor Granger a few pleading looks.

Hermione smirked as she casually strolled into the classroom. She still obviously thought it was all a big joke. Though Ron wasn't entirely furious with her, he was still offended and irritated. Now she was strolling into his classroom as if she owned the castle. Professor Weasley folded his arms.

"Really?" Hermione said lightly, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I wasn't aware dueling consisted of a lot of banging on the walls and yelling."

A few of the girls in the class giggled, while a couple of the boys snickered. Professor Weasley threw an authoritative glare their way, which quickly silenced them.

"I wasn't aware you were in the habit of teaching other classes, Professor," Ron countered through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting the lesson, Professor Weasley?"

"Yes, I believe we already established that, Professor Granger."

"Well, you're obviously the _expert_ here, so I'll leave you to your devices, Professor."

The students' heads swung back and forth, watching their verbal sparring.

"Was that _sarcasm_, Professor?"

"Excellent observation, Professor." An annoying, playful smirk was now on Hermione's face.

"Perhaps _you'd_ like to teach the class, Professor?"

"Certainly, Professor." Hermione surprised the class, especially Ron, by taking out her wand and pointing it in the vague direction of Professor Weasley. "I expect you've covered both disarming and blocking? Because I could demonstrate - "

"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Ron exclaimed in surprise.

Hermione shrugged lightly, that smirk still on her face. "I don't believe I was. Are you challenging _me _to a duel?"

"Well, if the shoe fits…"

"Very well," Hermione replied coolly, rolling up her sleeves.

"That was a joke, Herm - I mean, Professor," Ron said quickly. He tried pushing her towards the door. "Now run along, I expect you have classes to teach - "

Hermione didn't budge. Instead, she folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I'm incapable of dueling at a fifth-year level?"

"Was that an insult to us?" Paul White whispered to his best friend and partner-in-crime, Roger Ramone. Roger shrugged his shoulders.

Ron attempted to hold back. He attempted to shut his mouth. But he just couldn't resist.

"No," Professor Weasley grinned smugly. "I'm suggesting you're incapable of dueling _me_."

The class, now thoroughly enjoying the entertainment, let out a collective "Ooooh…"

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. She continued rolling up her sleeves, breathing heavily out of her nostrils. Now she was genuinely angry. Ron, feeling he had paid dearly for his moment of superiority, panicked.

"Alright, alright, you win," he muttered under his breath, grabbing Hermione's arm and steering her away from the students, so that they both had their backs to them.

Hermione's anger died away. "It's your own fault you weren't listening to me," Hermione said, content. "I said, '_Single women'_."

"No you didn't," Ron insisted. Not in order to start a fight, but he insisted all the same.

"I did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

The two seemed to realize at the same instant that they were behaving like two-year-olds in front of a class full of students, who now all looked exceptionally amused. The student body had suspicions about the so-called platonic relationship between the two teachers (the fact that Hermione had grabbed Ron and kissed him at last year's graduation ceremony seemed to have fueled the suspicion); in fact, the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy Professors were often a hot topic on the Hogwarts rumour mill. Ron caught a glimpse of the gossip-happy Flora Canter out of the corner of his eye, who was about a second away from grabbing a quill and taking notes.

Hermione obviously caught on too. "Ron, this is highly unprofessional," she said under her breath, as if she had just realized what she was doing. "I'm really very sorry for disturbing your class, I should have never - "

"That's alright, really - " Ron said hastily, relieved.

"Alright," she said in relief. "Sorry to interrupt," she repeated, this time to the class. They looked thoroughly disappointed as she turned to leave.

"Not a problem," Professor Weasley said, turning back towards his class. "It's for the best; you would've only gotten hurt anyway."

Hermione froze at the door, her back going rigid. Ron mentally kicked himself - he didn't mean for it to come out like that. But it was too late; Hermione had spun around, wand drawn, and one hand on her hip.

"Alright, Weasley," she snapped. "Let's see what you can do." This was met by much cheering on the class' part.

"Oooh!" Flora exclaimed excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot. "Lovers' quarrel!"

Hermione's stubbornness and the fact that she always had to be right, and Ron's temper and easily offended pride were always a lethal combination. Not to mention the competitiveness that had always been present between them. In a blatant disregard of all professionalism, Ron slowly drew his own wand, shaking his head. The class watched with baited breath.

"You've been warned…" he said in a sing-song voice. The two marched towards each other, wands drawn. They halted, inches apart.

"I've been waiting to do this for a _long_ time," Ron said in a low voice, grinning. Ron, and probably Hermione too, had always secretly wondered who would come out on top in a duel - Hermione, who had learned everything from books, or Ron, who had learned everything from experience. Now was their chance to find out.

"Smirk while you still can," Hermione warned, giving him a look. They both spun around and started walking in opposite directions.

"Now watch closely," Ron called to his class as he walked. If they were going to duel, it might as well have some educational purpose. "I don't suppose any of you have seen an actual duel between qualified wizards and witches - not since we got rid of the infamous Dueling Club - so pay attention. On the count of three the duel will begin. Note the first spell I start out with, and remember what I told you before. One…two…" Ron chanced a glance over the back of his shoulder, just to see where Hermione was standing. Her back was to him, straight and alert. "Three."

"_Expelliarmus!_" Hermione immediately cried. It took Ron off-guard; the class watched as his wand flew into the air and towards Hermione's awaiting hand. Roger whistled loudly, the rest of the class laughing at the fact that Professor Weasley's own words of wisdom about the Disarming spell not being used in duels had backfired on him. Ron clenched his teeth. If she wanted to play that way, he would play that way. No exceptions just because she happened to be his girlfriend.

"_Accio wand!_" Ron hollered. He looked extremely foolish, as he had no wand to summon his wand back to him in the first place. Hermione knew this, and for an instant there was a smug look on her face - but then it was replaced by shock as, to her and the class' shock, Ron's wand flew back into his hand.

"Ha," Ron said victoriously, twirling his wand around in his hand. "_Some _people don't always need a wand to do magic." The class looked thoroughly impressed. "Though it helps," he added as an afterthought.

Hermione had recovered from the initial shock, and now looked angry. "That's cheating! Dueling is done only with wands - "

"My classroom, my rules, sweetheart," Ron said cheekily, getting caught up in the adrenaline of the duel. "But I'll stick to the rules from now on, for your sake." This infuriated Hermione even more, who decided to shut him up with a well-placed, "_Locomotor Mortis!_"

Ron fell to the ground, his legs locked together. But a flash of victory in Hermione's eyes caused him to hurl his torso, the only portion of his body that he still had control over, forward to yell, "_Impedimenta!_"

Hermione's arm seem to freeze as she attempted another spell. Yet she hadn't been stopped altogether, only slowed to a snails pace. This gave Ron enough time to perform the counter-curse to Leg Locker and scramble upwards.

"You see," he said to the class, "the spells that come in handy. Leg-Locker was effective in getting me to the ground, but it left me free to use my wand. Yet since _Petrificus Totalus_ can't be used in a duel, it would have been smarter to use the Arm-Locker - "

Ron realized with a jolt that the slowing spell had worn off as Hermione suddenly jerked back into regular motion, crying, "_Rictusempra!_"

Ron fell to the ground, laughing madly as the tickling spell worked its magic. "It would have been smart to use the Arm-Locker curse," Professor Granger continued calmly, as if her opponent wasn't hysterically laughing on the ground, "if such a curse existed."

Ron managed to perform the counter-curse on himself somehow and once again jumped to his feet, his freckled face crimson from laughing.

"_Furnunculus!_" Hermione immediately cried, wasting no time.

"_Bubbleboblius!_" Ron quickly countered. A blue, transparent, bubble suddenly enveloped him. It acted as a shield, reflecting Hermione's curse back her way. She ducked, and it hit the wall instead, which immediately began sprouting fungus-like boils.

Ron's reflexes were superb; all those years of being an Auror obviously hadn't been wasted. He blocked, ducked, or avoided nearly every spell Hermione threw at him, playing the defensive for awhile. Then, when she would least expect it, he'd switch to offense and send a curse her way, which she had to work hard to avoid. He was tiring her out, trying to get the upper hand. Hermione was becoming frustrated, and thus, sloppy. She may have had almost every spell known to wizards filed away in that brain of hers, but Ron had the experience of duelling and fighting much worse things than her. Finally she seemed to give up as a particularly nasty spell that made her short of breath, not to mention not very clear-headed, hit her.

"Stay…still…" Hermione huffed, trying to aim her wand at the agile former Auror.

"See the advantage of being quick?" Professor Weasley told his class, darting around to avoid curse after curse and quite enjoying himself.

"Argh!" Hermione exclaimed. Setting her jaw, she tried one last spell. "_Sedimenta!_"

"Missed me again," Professor Weasley teased as the jet of bright yellow light hit the ground beneath him. But a satisfied smile was slowly spreading across Hermione's face.

"I wasn't aiming for _you_," she said triumphantly.

Professor Weasley suddenly let out a startled yelp as his right leg abruptly sunk into the floor, which had suddenly become incredibly soft. This was followed by his left leg, and then the rest of his torso. Wide-eyed and struggling madly, Ron Weasley sunk slowly into the ground, feeling as if he was being dragged downwards. He finally stopped wriggling around, and his sinking slowed. By now, only his fiery head was visible above the tiled floor of the Defense Against Dark Arts class.

"I win," Hermione smiled sweetly.

"Wicked!" Roger Ramone exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's like, quicksand or something."

"No, really?" Ron snapped sarcastically. The movement of his jaw caused his mouth to sink into the floor as well.

"You're not going to let him sink, are you?" Annie Miller of Hufflepuff blurted out.

"Of course not!" Professor Granger answered, scoffing. "_Corpus rightus."_

Ron gave a yell as the floor spit him out, then settled itself back into it's solid form. He immediately jumped up, brushing himself off, very red in the face. His class stared at him expectantly. Hermione folded her arms, still smiling in satisfaction and breathing heavily.

"Well then," Ron finally said, clearing his throat. "You're just lucky I let you win, Professor Granger."

Paul White started coughing loudly. "Like hell you did," he muttered, followed by more hacking noises in an attempt to cover it up.

The tiny little bell on Ron's desk suddenly leapt into the air and rang shrilly. The students, not bothering to put their desks back, gathered their books and hurried out of the classroom, chattering excitedly. Flora Canter shoved a few people aside, anxious to be the first to spread the story of the duel. Ron and Hermione both stood silently at the front of the empty classroom, watching them leave. Hannah Longley banged the door shut behind her, and Hermione suddenly let out a strangled noise.

"Yeah, you won," Ron said savagely, violently putting the desks back into place with a wave of his wand. "Go on, gloat. Gloat and brag and - "

But Hermione only shook her head wordlessly and clutched Ron's arm. "You could've killed me!"

Ron looked slightly less peeved. "Well, yes…I suppose I could have…" he said importantly.

"You're a fully qualified Auror!" Hermione shrieked shrilly. "And…and in a duel…one of us could have got hurt…or the students! In front of the students! They could've easily been hurt! What were we thinking?!"

The implications of what they had just done slowly dawned on the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "Oh…"

Hermione whimpered. "We are going to be in _so_ much trouble…"

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Okay, this was just a fun for-the-hell of it chapter. Again. Sorry. It was just mainly to show what it's like for the two of them teaching together, and to be like "Hey, what's goin' on with the students?" Yeah. I'm actually gonna start a plot in the next one.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…the review song.

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Note: I do not own Play That Funky Music White Boy, or any other funky musics I may use in my review songs. ^_^

*Darkness enshrouds you, the reader, then suddenly…*

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Music: Bow wow wow wow wow wowowowowow…

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Ron: _*is revealed, sporting a one-piece, sparkly, Saturday Night Fever disco outfit and an afro* _Heeeeeeeeeey review it nooooooow! Wooooah yeah…

Once I read a little fanfic,

Entitled 'Bury the Hatchet'!

The author never had no problems,

'Cept with her keyboard, what a stupid gadget.

So in this certain fanfic,

Some real crazy stuff took place…

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Fred and George: Yeah there was dancin'!

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Harry: Romancin'!

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Dobby: Some madmen and some poison!

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Hermione: Silver finally finished…

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Dumbledore: And the reviewers turned around and shouted…

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All: Write yourself a sequel, Silver! Write yourself a sequel toniiiiiight! Write yourself a sequel, Silver!

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Me: So I wrote a sequel, now write me a review or else I'll cry! Or else I'll cry…

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Music:_ *abruptly stops*_

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Ron: Who're you?

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Me: …Harry Potter.

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Harry: Uh, _I'm_ Harry Potter.

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Me: Hey buddy, your identity crisis is _not _my problem.

~Fin~


	4. Platonic

**Author's Notes: Here comes the plo-ot…here comes the sha la la la la la…ahem. Anyways, so I've moved on from random scenes that are irrelevant to the actual story and have written a chapter with some plot! Well, hints of it anyways. I also had Chapter 5 written (containing even more plot-relevant goodness!) but, as always, Microsoft Word decided to screw me over. v_v I wrote it on another computer, then put it on floppy disk. But when I transferred the chapter from floppy disk onto my computer, all I got were random squares and other weird symbols! I was angry and hurt. I blame the shoddy workmanship of floppy disk manufacturers everywhere.**

_This ends Silver __Phoenix__'s random ranting. Please keep in mind that the views and opinions expressed in her author's notes do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of fanfiction.net, J.K. Rowling, or Harry Potter. In fact, Harry Potter graciously forgives shoddy workmanship. He's just that nice._

***

Harry Potter had not had a good laugh in a long time, it seemed; because at the moment he was clutching his stomach, bent over, tears rolling down his cheeks as he laughed his narrow behind off. Even the antique mirror in the corner of the bedroom was having a good chuckle. In fact, the only person who didn't seem to find the story he'd just recounted amusing was Ron Weasley.

"Just because she beat me doesn't mean she's better," he retorted, arms folded. "I mean, it was a lucky shot, hoorah for Hermione - "

"Shh, shh," Harry interrupted, holding up his hands. His eyes were closed tightly. "I'm trying to fix that mental picture in my mind…you sinking into the floor, and Hermione standing triumphantly over you, and your entire class laughing…"

"They weren't laughing."

"They are in _this mental picture." Harry snickered a bit, and then flopped onto Ron's bed, settling down somewhat. "S'good to laugh," he sighed wistfully after a brief silence._

Ron became serious as he shrugged his robes off and tossed them on a nearby chair. Beneath the black robes, he could've almost passed for a Muggle - grey slacks, and a long-sleeved blue sweater over a white shirt, which was untucked and could be seen poking out unevenly from under the sweater.

"Workin' hard?" Ron asked nonchalantly as he rolled up his sleeves, trying to keep his tone light. Harry had been around since Percy's wedding, alternating between the Burrow, Hogwarts, and Sirius' home ("Padfoot's Pad", as the two Aurors affectionately called the older wizards' small, but comfortable, apartment-like home). Tomorrow Harry returned to duty, and it was doubtful that he would be around very often any more.

Harry sat up. "Ron, I would never say this to a civilian, but seeing as you're you, I will: We're screwed."

Ron looked up, alarmed. "What the hell do you mean, 'We're screwed?' Last you people told me, you had four of the five scrolls. The odds are in your favour, mate."

"What is this, some kind of game? It doesn't matter, Ron," Harry said wearily. "That _one is still out there. And it could still do a hell of a lot of damage alone. If some deranged person got a hold of it…"_

"Who's gonna know how to read them though? Aren't they written in ancient gobblygook or something?" Ron asked, folding his arms. "Besides, I had never heard of these things until Crump went berserk and sent everyone off to look for them. What makes you think these random deranged people even know about the scrolls?"

"There are these psychos out there, Weasley. This is what they've been waiting for…" Harry said gravely, trailing off. "Plus with all this anti-Mudblood and anti-Muggle crap Stark has started…"

"Stark," Ron spat out the name, narrowing his eyes. "Hasn't he caused enough trouble at the Ministry? Argh…last time we had to deal with him I was just about ready to tell him to - "

Ron's mirror made a tut-tutting noise as Professor Weasley described just what he wanted to tell Dameon Stark to do, which was probably anatomically impossible, but would've been extremely satisfactory to say nonetheless.

"He'd probably want to, anyway," Ron continued ranting. "He loves himself that much."

"Did you see the _Daily Prophet yesterday?" Harry asked, disgusted. "Apparently 'witches everywhere' love him too."_

"And I bet they love him for his _mind_," Ron said mockingly, pretending to swoon.

"He's a politician, for God's sake," Harry vented, sighing, "and he has the celebrity status of a member of *NSync."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Ron shrugged. "If you could even call him a politician." The former Auror rolled his eyes and walked to the window, resting his arm on the cool glass as he peered out onto the grounds.

"More like a Nazi," Harry scoffed.

"Who?"

"Never mind." Harry sighed. He stood up and stretched, glancing at his watch and starting towards the door. "Well, I'm going to turn in early if I plan to be flying back to London tomorrow. I'd go by Floo, but…"

Ron's mind then did a phenomenal thing; it made the most absurd few connections to arrive at the last person who was on his mind at the moment. Floo Powder - fireplace - Burrow - Ginny.

"Wait a second," Ron said brusquely. He swiftly cut off Harry, blocking the door. "Sit," the brusque redhead commanded. Raising an eyebrow, Harry sat on the armchair by the door. Ron paced back and forth before his puzzled, if not slightly amused best friend, then abruptly stopped and stared at him, as if beginning some sort of interrogation.

"What," Ron said sharply, "is this I hear about you and my sister?"

Harry's face fell, all amusement gone. "Hermione and her big mouth," he muttered.

"Hermione does _not have a big mouth," Ron retorted defensively. "Besides, you were just a _tad_ obvious at Percy's wedding. What's going on and why didn't I know about it?"_

Harry looked uncomfortable. And it had nothing to do with the armchair, because that was the bloody best armchair in Hogwarts, and a damn comfortable one at that. "Nothing's going on," he said bitterly, "for your information. There. Done, Big Brother?"

"No!" Ron exclaimed. "My best friend and my sister had a…" a very Hermione-like look crossed his face, "_thing_, and I didn't even know about it!" The grown man now looked slightly hurt. "C'mon Harry, I thought we were best mates. Hermione said you two wrote each other all the time after me and you were out of Hogwarts. And then, that one Christmas when we visited my folks - "

"Maybe I didn't want to talk about it, Ron," Harry interrupted loudly, his face flushed. "Maybe it didn't work out, and I didn't want to talk about it, alright?"

Ron looked taken aback. "But I talked to you about Hermione all the time. What, you can't trust me with that kind of stuff? Or was it just because she's my sister? I mean, you told Hermione about it later on."

"That's because Hermione understands why Ginny…" Harry sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "Women."

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked, genuinely sympathetic.

"Same thing that happened to you," Harry said in a strained voice. "I knew the price of being an Auror. So did Ginny. And she just couldn't accept what the consequences are." Harry stood up, running a hand through his already rumpled black hair. "You know, sometimes I think I should've taken a page out of your book, mate," he told Ron. "But I can't leave. This is what I'm mean to do. My social life's taken a beating but…" Harry shrugged, smiling wryly, "that's what retirement's for, right?" Ron smiled lopsidedly in reply.

Sighing, Harry stretched out his wand and murmured something. Like a silent black cloud, his robes floated over to their owner's extended hand. "Ginny and I are just friends now," Harry explained, his voice unreadable and his back turned to Ron as he put on his robes. "We talked at the wedding. Everything's back to normal, I hope. We'll be good friends, just like before. Strictly platonic."

Ron smiled again and slapped his old partner on the back as he turned to face him once more. "You're a good man, Potter," Ron admitted. "I wouldn't have minded having you for a brother-in-law."

Harry smiled sadly. "Yeah, well…some things are just not meant to be."

_"Ron!" Both men flinched as Hermione's voice filled the room, at least three times its normal volume. That, plus the fact that the disembodied voice sounded both shrill and nervous, and it wasn't the most beautiful sound in the world. __"Professor McGonagall wishes to speak with us. You have to come down to her office at once. I'm waiting by the second floor stairs. Hurry up!" The floating voice faded, its last words echoing._

"And some things are," Harry grinned.

***

"Irresponsible, immature, and careless!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed shrilly. Seated before her desk were Professors Weasley and Granger, both looking like guilty schoolchildren. Professor Granger's face was very white, and she was slowly and methodically shredding a piece of tissue into her lap.

"Minerva, we're really very sorry…" Ron pleaded, trying a winning smile. McGonagall wasn't impressed.

"A student could have been hurt!"

"We know, we weren't thinking - "

"One of _you could have been hurt!"_

"We know, like I said - " Ron tried again.

"Well if you _knew, why did you have a full-fledged duel, without clearance from myself or the Headmaster, in an enclosed classroom in front of a group of students?!" McGonagall demanded in exasperation. She leaned back in her chair, looking bewildered. "Now Weasley, I know __you're a bit of a hot-head - "_

Ron smiled a forced smile.

" - but Professor Granger, I really expected better from you!" the Deputy Headmistress sighed. Hermione's knuckles turned white as she started on a new piece of tissue. Not losing eye contact with McGonagall, Ron reached out his hand and clasped Hermione's, stopping her from ripping the unfortunate tissue to shreds. Professor McGonagall glanced down at their intertwined fingers and pursed her lips.

"Now, I understand your current…" she began with much difficulty. The Transfiguration Professor seemed to be searching for a word, "_relationship_." she decided, looking at the two with raised eyebrows. Both professors' cheeks flushed. "Which is none of my business because, quite frankly, I don't care what you two do on your own time. Now, I don't know what your little quarrel was about, nor do I want to. Just…" she sighed again, "try to keep it professional at Hogwarts, will you?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," they both echoed simultaneously.

Ron could've sworn he saw the shadow of a smile on McGonagall's stoic face, but it quickly passed. "Well, that's it. Thank you for your time, Professors."

The two nodded wordlessly, and silently left the Deputy Headmistress' office. They emerged into the front hall, empty and quiet save for a suit of armour in one corner which was shuffling nervously, obviously itchy. The two had made it half way up the grand staircase in silence before a stifled laugh slipped out of Ron.

Hermione whirled around on him. "I suppose you thought that was funny, didn't you?" she snapped, her voice high-pitched.

Ron couldn't stop a slow grin from forming on the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it was," he admitted, watching Hermione carefully for her reaction, an amused expression on his face. She drew in a shaky breath, preparing herself for battle as she continued to stomp up the stairs.

"Oh, lighten up, Hermione!" Ron laughed, stopping on the staircase and leaning against the banister. "You have to admit, that _was_ kind of funny."

Hermione stopped and made a displeased sound in reply. Ron took her lack of verbal rebuttal as a good sign and continued on. "I just hope none of the kids saw that; the two of us in there, looking like guilty little students caught snogging in the hallway." Ron's shoulders were now shaking with laughter. "And the look…on McGonagall's face…"

He saw Hermione's lips quiver. She bit her bottom lip, like she always did when she was trying to keep from smiling. Ron knew victory was nearly his.

"I understand your current…_relationship_," he said in a high-pitched voice, wrinkling his nose and attempting to imitate McGonagall's pinched features and grim face. That did it; Hermione's eyes fell to the floor as she smiled and shook her head at him.

"Aha! The lady doth smile!" Ron proclaimed, raising his arms in victory. Hermione, the corners of her mouth still upturned, rolled her eyes and slapped his right arm, causing him to lower the arms of triumph.

"Oh fine, it was _sort of funny," Hermione confessed, folding her arms. "But still, she had a valid point. We have been acting somewhat…er…unprofessional."_

"Excuse me, you're the one who grabbed me and kissed me in the middle of the Great Hall last year."

"That was an exception," Hermione said quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"Yes, I know," Ron replied in a long-suffering voice. "It's me, not you. I understand. Women…they just can't help themselves…"

"Oh, get over yourself," Hermione huffed. "Still," she said reluctantly, after a pause. "Perhaps we _should_ set some ground rules."

"Yes, mum."

"Ron, quit joking just for a second," Hermione demanded, hands on her hips. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor raised his hands in apology, then nodded solemnly. 

"Now, listen," Hermione said diplomatically. "We should keep a completely platonic attitude during school hours, and in front of the staff and students."

Ron sighed. "Agreed. Now can we go?" He put his arm around Hermione to steer her in the upward direction of the stairs. To his surprise, Hermione took an abrupt step backwards.

"Which means hands off," she said firmly. Ron's face fell.

"C'mon, Hermione, McGonagall was just – "

"Hands off."

"What about in the Great Hall?"

"No."

"The library?"

"No."

"The caretaker's closet on the fifth floor?"

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. "Just…keep it professional around the staff and students, alright? I…" her gaze dropped to the floor. "I don't like us being the topic of discussion at the house tables at dinner, alright? These stupid rumours have got to stop. It's…well, it's embarrassing. Our students don't have to know about our personal lives."

Ron nodded, finally serious. "Look, Hermione, sorry I was acting like a jackass. I totally understand."

"Good," Hermione smiled in relief, the colour fading from her cheeks. "And, I mean, Professor McGonagall was right," she added lightly. "Whatever we do on our _own_ time is no one else's business."

Ron winked, causing Hermione to blush again. "Gotcha." He followed her as she started back up the staircase, grinning to himself.

"Ah, Hermione," he murmured to himself. "The McGonagall impression will be your downfall."

"I heard that!"

Ron grinned and headed up the stairs. But for some reason the grin felt like a mask of sorts; inside, he felt strangely bothered, but by what, he didn't know. Harry's worried words just kept echoing over and over again in Ron's head.

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Heh…that was fun to write. And now, in conclusion of this chapter, I have only one thing to say…

Stupid floppy disks.

Oh yeah, and review! ^_^


	5. Tella Visionus

**Author's Notes: **As always, my response to you reviewer-types is in…that's right! The reviews! Thanks again to all the loyal readers/reviewers, and to Ariana for the idea – I'll sneak you, or a character partly inspired by you and your Skittles-loving ways, into the story yet! ^_~ Thanks again, Ari.

***

Two years ago he was an unknown, simply a pawn in political chess. A year later, and the Pureblood elite began to whisper his name during their distinguished banquets and social gatherings. In January, he became confident. February, arrogant. By March, many had joined him. Come April, his words were being printed in the papers. May; their numbers grew. June; his grip on the Ministry tightened. In July he became an election candidate. In August he became a celebrity. By September, every witch and wizard in the world knew his name.

Now it was October, and the wizarding world was divided – those who loved him, and those who hated him. There were those who supported him, and those who supported Crump.

Only a few more months' time, and it would be Ministry elections. Who knew what power he would have by then?

Dameon Stark had every reason to smirk.

***

Professor Weasley strode purposefully into the staff room, slamming the door with a bang in order to announce his presence. Classes had just ended, so most of the Hogwarts staff had convened in the small, but comfortable staff room for their end-of-the-day caffeine fix. The Professors assembled jumped slightly as the door slammed shut, and turned to glare at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"_Must_ you always do zat?" Professor Bouchard asked disdainfully, gingerly stirring his coffee in a precise, clockwise direction. In response, Ron strolled behind him whistling, and made sure to kick one of the legs of his chair. Bouchard's hand jerked to the side and he sighed in frustration, pushing the cup away. "Now it eez tainted," he said sourly, casting dark looks at Ron.

"It's not a bloody potion, you know," Ron pointed out, plopping down next to Hermione and dumping a stack of essays on the table. The tower of parchment teetered and fell, spilling onto the paper Hermione was marking. Not even looking up, she pushed Ron's work aside. "If you accidentally stir it in a counter-clockwise direction, you're not going to sprout another head when you drink it."

"Ah, but zere is where you are wrong," the Potions Master replied softly, a strange gleam in his eyes. "Every liquid, every drink…anything that touches your lips eez a potion." He sighed melodramatically. Ron stared, and then turned to Hermione.

"Hi, Hermione!" he said loudly and cheerfully, ignoring the overdramatic Potions Master. Bouchard muttered something in French and went to get himself another coffee.

Hermione didn't seem to be listening, lost in the world of what was, evidently, a fascinating essay entitled _Magical Properties of the Number Seven_. With a strange sort of quill that was stubby and secreted thick red ink, she was correcting the student's punctuation, or lack thereof, and murmuring to herself.

"Comma…comma…period…capital…to, not too…argh!" Hermione pushed the paper away, brushing a frizzy piece of hair out of her eyes. "Where did these children go to school before they came here? Their teachers should be sued, and then possibly thrown in Azkaban."

"Most wizard kids don't go to school before they come to Hogwarts," Ron said conversationally, snatching away the weird red quill and examining it.

"Then how do they learn the basics?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "Grammar, spelling, addition, subtraction…?"

Ron shrugged, trying out the red quill on one of his papers to be marked. "They're all home schooled. Or, in my case, I just picked it up from Fred and George."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"Fred knows how to add?"

Ron snorted and returned Hermione's quill, chuckling. She looked rather pleased with herself, and smiled as she returned to her papers. Ron loved watching her work; the look of intense concentration on her face, the way her brown eyes darted back and forth, reading at a speed Ron could never manage, and the way she unconsciously bit her bottom lip when she made a correction. Her sun-kissed look from their summer vacation had all but faded, and all that remained were a few barely noticeable freckles, scattered across the bridge of her nose. She seemed to have given up on her hair this morning, which was piled unceremoniously on top of her head somehow, little wisps of hair coming loose every so often. By most people's standards, Hermione wasn't gorgeous or stunning – pretty, maybe, and even more so when she bothered to do her hair or put on makeup like other women – but in Ron's eyes, she was beautiful. And he told her so from time to time; usually in a light-hearted or joking way, which was the only way Ron knew how, but he hoped she knew he meant it.

Hermione used to feel uncomfortable when he'd study her like this. At school, she thought he did it just to annoy her, and at some times, got incredibly angry at him. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, but when it came to certain things, she was completely oblivious. Then again, he had been too - oblivious to his own feelings.

It had begun as a brotherly sort of affection; he had had these instincts to defend her, to keep her safe. Then it had developed into something different, something strong – jealousy at the Yule Ball, and a fiery sort of feeling that took over when they fought. Then, when it was all said and done, and Hermione would stomp away to the library, or her dormitory, or to class, she started leaving an empty feeling in her wake, a funny sensation in his stomach.

He'd catch himself watching her, studying her, trying to sort through the muddled mess that was his confused teenage mind, crippled by hormones and feelings he couldn't explain or control. They infuriated and boggled him, all at the same time. It took him two years to sort out his feelings; another two before he dared confess them to her. The war against Voldemort, the desperateness of the time – it had made him feel a sort of finality, a now or never. And then when he'd finally blurted it out, when he'd finally kissed her, everything had seemed so right, so perfect - only to be destroyed that same night. After that night, he'd had to suffer through seven years without Hermione, without seeing her face or hearing her laugh – hell, he even missed her lectures and arguing with her. He still would study her, only it was in his dreams. As the years progressed, her face became foggier and blurrier, and he became frustrated that he couldn't see her properly. Ron remembered with a wry smile that even in his dreams Hermione would become annoyed with his constant staring.

But now she was too absorbed to notice, and he could study her to his heart's content. He smiled as a bit of hair fell back into her eyes again. Still in a dream-like reverie, Ron reached out to gently brush it out of her face. But instead Hermione jerked her head backwards, giving him a meaningful look and snapping him out of his trance. Ron sighed, nodding half-heartedly, then tore his eyes away from her and took out his quill to begin marking his own essays.

He ended up making a long, scraggly line with his quill as the door burst open and slammed shut, making everyone jump yet again. "Hey now," Ron said disapprovingly to the culprit - Professor Roberts, the young Muggle Studies teacher. "There's no need to slam the door like that."

"There's a debate," Arden Roberts explained breathlessly, "between Crump and Stark, on T.V., right now!"

Professor McGonagall looked up from her tea, surprised, and pursed her lips. "I was not aware that there was a debate today."

Roberts shrugged. "Quick, someone put it on! Professor Flitwick?"

The tiny Charms professor rolled up his sleeves and stood on his chair as everyone else hurriedly cleared the circular table in the staff room. Ron pushed his chair back and watched inquisitively as Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"_Tella Visionus_," Flitwick said with flourish and much complicated waving of his wand.

Ron stared on in amazement as shapes and figures began to blossom from Flitwick's wand. He had never actually seen the complex _Tella Visionus_ spell performed, preferring to read the news in the paper. However, the recently developed spell, more commonly known as "T.V." amongst wizards (who always had an ironic sense of humour – there was a Muggle device of the same name, apparently), was becoming increasingly popular. It was a way to watch, rather than read, about current news and events. And with the upcoming Ministry elections, there was always something on T.V.

Before long, little ghostly, semi-transparent figures and shapes were appearing on the staff room table, shadows of real people and things at a real place. The events that would unfold before them on the staff room table were taking place at that moment, except that in the vision, everything was over one tenth its actual size.

First, ghostly buildings rose up out of the table, creating the narrow passageway that was Diagon Alley. The alleyway suddenly widened, forming a clear, open space. A wide building was materializing in the background, all-too familiar to Ron; the Ministry of Magic. Though, in the vision, Ron noted that none of its polished whiteness could be seen. Instead, the building was the same smoky, semi-transparent grey as everything else. Next, a podium formed out of the swirling mists pouring out of Flitwick's wand. The mists stilled for a moment, leaving them with the picture of the podium in the open, clear courtyard of the Ministry of Magic.

Then the mists took the shape of people. At first, only one or two could be seen milling around the scene, but soon an entire crowd of tiny figures had assembled. They were only about the size of toys, giving them the appearance of tiny action figures. And while all their mouths were moving rapidly, no sounds were coming out. Then, as if coming from a radio, the Professors assembled began to hear voices; fuzzy at first, then clearer and louder. Finally, one tiny figure stepped forward, wand in hand. He spoke into his miniscule wand.

"Welcome, wizards and witches, to the BWBN – British Wizard Broadcasting Network! I'm Flash Anderson," the little man said, flashing a ghostly little smile. "We're currently here in London, England, where election candidate Dameon Stark has called for a debate with opponent and current Minister for Magic, Issac Crump. As you can see," he explained, turning to face the crowd of miniature people behind him, "the majority of spectators here today are Stark supporters."

The voices of the crowd, made up of a surprisingly young group of wizards and witches, suddenly became louder, as if someone had turned the volume up. "Stark for Minister!" they were chanting over and over again. "Stark for Minister!"

"Boo," Ron said flatly, resting an elbow on the table and glaring at one tiny man wearing _Stark for Minister badges. He was now furiously waving in Ron's direction, as if he had suddenly realized that he was on the BWBN, even though he couldn't see the Hogwarts Professors watching him._

"While Stark has been criticized by some for his anti-Muggle attitude, Crump has been critiqued just as much for his soft-heartedness when it comes to Muggles, non-magic folk. Experts argue that –" Flash Anderson put a hand to his ear, nodding, then returned his attention to his viewers, invisible to him and the minuscule crowd. "I have just been informed that the candidates are on their way to the podium! And…yes, I believe I see them!"

The Professors assembled in the staff room squinted as two new translucent figures walked out of the vaporous Ministry of Magic building. The applause from Stark's supporters was deafening as he stepped onto the platform, waving and flashing his award-winning smile. It was evident even from the ghostly shadow of the real Dameon Stark that he was a somewhat handsome man, and even more evident as a few witches screamed his name, cheering loudly. When the tall, balding figure of Issac Crump stepped onto the platform, there were only a handful of people, mostly older witches and wizards, who applauded, though their cheers were just as loud as the larger group's had been for Stark. Boos and hisses arose from the Stark fans now as Crump stood beside the younger candidate, seemingly unfazed. Dameon Stark raised a hand, and the crowd abruptly settled down, their gazes fixed on the young candidate.

"My fellow wizards and witches," Stark began with another fabulous smile. His voice was clear and smooth, and though he wasn't talking very loudly, it seemed to fill the entire staff room. "My fellow candidate, Mr. Crump, has graciously agreed to participate in this debate today. I only ask that you bestow upon him the same courtesy that you give to me."

"You're so full of it, Stark," Ron spat. He was promptly shushed by everyone else in the room.

"The topic at hand - " Stark began. He was abruptly cut off by Crump, whose voice sounded crisp and harsh next to Stark's smooth, pleasant one.

"My, my, Mr. Stark," Crump said coolly in a subtly cynical tone, "multi-talented now too, are you? I was not aware that you would be moderating _as well_ as participating in the debate today." Ron grinned approvingly along with a few of the other Professors.

"Of course not!" Stark said pleasantly. "I was only introducing the topic at hand, which is, of course, the newly-formed Department of Muggle Security. Now Mr. Crump, is it true that, if re-elected, you will be giving this…shall I say…_expendable_ department even more funding?" This prompted some hushed whispering amongst the shadowy crowd.

"Mr. Stark," the Minister for Magic replied quietly, "over one hundred British Muggles were murdered or injured during the return of He Who Must Not Be Named - "

" - eleven years ago," Stark interjected. "Don't you think that perhaps you're a little late?" The crowd of Stark supporters immediately sniggered, as if on cue.

"If you'll allow me to finish," Crump continued impatiently. "I was about to say that more Muggles are still injured and even killed each year by an assortment of things - hexes gone wrong, spells that have been placed on Muggle artifacts, Memory Charms that have backfired, and, believe it or not, Dark wizards. Despite the peacefulness of these times, there are still those out there that believe the Dark Lord is not dead. And usually, these individuals enjoy taking out their frustration on Muggles."

Ron felt Hermione, who was standing next to him, shiver involuntarily. Though the castle was chilly in October, it was rather warm, if anything, in the crowded staff room. Ron fought the urge to protectively put his arm around her.

"If we as a wizarding community are not to take responsibility for these injuries and deaths, then who will?" Crump demanded. "That is why I formed the department, and that is why, yes, I intend to provide them more funding."

"Yet…" Stark said thoughtfully, directing his thoughts to the crowd. "Yet is it really the Ministry's job to deal with Muggle matters such as these?" Most of the crowd murmured their agreements.

"If Muggles are dying and being injured due to wizards, then yes, I believe it is the Ministry of Magic's responsibility!" Crump exclaimed.

Stark ignored him. "Wouldn't our money be better spent on _us?_ On wizards? On blood that is pure rather than foolhardy Muggles that get involved with magic and pay for it?" Stark's supporters roared their approval.

"Oh you horrible, horrible man…" Professor McGonagall whispered, clenching her fists.

Stark seemed to sense that he had won the upper hand in this debate. "Far too much time and energy is spent by the Ministry trying to hide the wizarding world from Muggles!" he bellowed, and suddenly his voice was no longer quiet and agreeable, but loud and authoritative. "Entire departments are devoted to it! And yet why are we in hiding? Are we not the superior race?" Once again, Stark's supporters voiced their agreements loudly. Most of the Crump supporters were now looking bewildered, being swallowed up by the rest of the crowd.

"It is time for change, my fellow wizards!" Stark proclaimed. "It is time for a new Ministry of Magic! A new Minister _for_ Magic! A new - "

"Oh, shut up!" Ron burst out angrily, swiping at the miniature, ghostly figure of Stark with his hand. Exclamations of protest were heard as Ron's hand passed right through Stark and the crowd. The entire vision was ruined; the only thing left of the tiny figures and objects were wisps of smoke that curled and drifted into the air.

"Now we 'ave missed it!" Bouchard exclaimed angrily. "And it was just getting to ze good part…"

"Then put it back on if you want," Ron said furiously. "I've seen enough." With that, he spun around and stomped out of the staff room, not even bothering to slam the door.

The newscast had definitely struck a nerve. He absolutely loathed Stark; however, he was beginning to think that he hated Stark's supporters even more. They were stupid, ignorant, and cocky. With the second fall of Voldemort already eleven years behind them, the magical community was starting to feel comfortable again, to feel almost arrogant. Ron was beginning to see echoes of the attitude of Cornelius Fudge's time begin to once again creep back into the Ministry and the wizarding world. A new generation was coming of age, one that had already forgotten the horror of the wars against Voldemort and the restructuring of the Ministry of Magic – hell, the entire wizarding world – after his fall. Or they had been too young back then to understand.

Emphasis was again being placed on the purity of blood, not the purity of heart. And what made Ron Weasley's blood boil the most was that everything his father had worked for in the past eleven years…everything his father believed in…was crumbling apart.

Seething, he marched down the hall, hearing the door close softly behind him, followed by hurried footsteps. Hermione finally drew even with him, and had to walk quickly to stay next to the enraged redhead.

"Ron, slow down!" she huffed, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks. He turned to face her, arms crossed. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked in concern.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?!" Ron ranted. "That idiot! That's what's wrong! Did you see the crowd, the great bunch of - "

"Watch your language!" Hermione hissed, covering Ron's mouth with her hand as a few third-years walked by in the adjacent corridor, laughing at something or another amongst themselves. Ron pried Hermione's hand off his mouth.

"If that…" he saw the stern look on Hermione's face and refrained from swearing like a sailor. "…is elected, I'm going down to the Ministry and booting him out of office myself. Literally. With a boot. Preferably one with steel toes."

Hermione laughed despite herself. Ron still looked sour. "Listen…that crowd of people?" Hermione said dismissively. "They were just a bunch of kids that saw a young, good-looking man running for office and jumped aboard. Everything he says sounds good to them."

"Aha! So you admit he's good-looking!"

"Oh, be quiet. Yes, he's somewhat handsome. But he's also a pig who just practically admitted he wants all Muggles dead. The only people that are going to vote for him are Pureblood idealists like him. And you know they're a minority, Ron. Almost everyone now is a Half-blood," Hermione said matter-of-factly. Ron felt himself calming down somewhat, though his teeth were still gritted.

"They have a lot of power, though," he muttered, folding his arms, "those Pureblood idealists. They can make everyone else do stupid things…and all those young kids are young kids with voting rights, you know. They should've never lowered the voting age. Idiots." Ron shook his head. "I feel right sorry for Harry right now. I wouldn't want to be at the Ministry with all this rubbish going on. But…" he trailed off, still shaking his head slowly.

"But what?"

"I dunno. Maybe if I was still there I could do something."

Hermione smiled. "Unless you can rig an election, I doubt you could.

Ron sighed, scratching his fiery head. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Don't worry. Crump's going to win."

"Says the Divination expert," Ron smiled half-heartedly. "Thanks, Hermione. If I was allowed to kiss you right now, I would."

"That's what the weekend's for, Ron," Hermione replied, surprising him by giving his arm an affectionate squeeze then quickly removing it, smiling almost mischievously.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sighed. "Well, I'm going to bed then…"

"Bed? It's only 5 o'clock!"

"Yeah," Ron yawned, shrugging. "Politics make me sleepy."

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I know that was quite an action-lacking chapter with all sorts of boring political mumbo jumbo that I'm not even sure I understand, but it was necessary, so my apologies. I also inserted some fluff in there just to make it a bit more interesting, and to kind of start to delve deeper into Ron and Hermione's relationship – seriously. Speaking of serious, all my author's notes were way too serious this chapter. What's up with that?! Quick, someone cue the review song!

Frau from Austin Powers: **_Cue the review song!_**

****

_Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii__ look at all the non-reviewers!_

_Do do, do do, do do, do do, do do…_

_Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii__ look at all the non-reviewers!_

_Do do, do do, do do, do do, do do…_

_Releanor__ Eigby,_

_Turns on the comp, reads a fic, thinks it's great, don't review…_

_What's up with you?_

_You should review, girl._

_It shows you're nice, helps me write, makes me laugh, makes me sing…_

_Reviews are really my thing._

_All the lonely authors,_

_Feel sad without reviews._

_All the lonely authors,_

_Feel guilty now, don't you?_

I was in a Beatles sort of mood. ^_^


	6. Surreptitus Scriptay

**Author's Notes:** Voila! Chapter 6! I re-wrote this sucker at least four times, and even had to do some _research_ for it, bleh. As if exams weren't enough.

Special, huge thanks to Ivy Moss, who drew an awesome picture of Diana Drago for me. If I can figure out how to get it on my website, I'll post a link in the next chapter. It's so amazing! Thanks Ivy! ^_^

***

"The independent study project will be worth…" Professor Weasley twirled his wand around, musing. "Hm, let's say…twenty-five percent of your final mark." He wasn't one for thinking these sorts of things through, or planning ahead for them. When would people learn that independent study projects were just meant to…happen?

"Make it five," Tommy Greenwald called out. Ron raised an eyebrow; his seventh-year class was getting far too bold.

"Twenty," Professor Weasley challenged.

"Ten."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

Ron considered this. "Done," he agreed. The class cheered.

"The topic will be…hm, water demons," he decided, pulling a random topic from the top of his head. "Kappas, Grindylows, Kelpies…" he listed, tossing his wand into the air and catching it. He noted the sound of quills scratching away at parchment, and smiled to himself. "Except that you cannot use the three that I just listed." A unanimous groan arose from the class as he grinned. "There will be a written essay, which you must hand in, and an oral presentation which you will…"

Professor Weasley trailed off, his gaze drawn to a student at the back of the classroom. Her head of curly, black hair was resting on her desk, cradled by her arm. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Oy! Miss Coles! Am I boring you?"

All heads in the class turned, amidst some snickers, as Ron continued to toss his wand into the air and catch it, waiting for a response. Jocelyn Coles wearily raised her head, and Ron's wand clattered to the floor.

The dark-skinned teen's face was as pale as death; her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles shadowing them, and her lips were cracked and bloodless. "I don't feel too well, Professor," she whispered hoarsely.

"Holy smokes, Jo," Ron said seriously, quickly walking down the aisle between desks to the back row, where he proceeded to feel the Jocelyn's forehead. "I think you'd better head up to the hospital wing, kid."

Jocelyn nodded weakly, pushing her chair back with a loud, grating noise as the class watched. A few students returned to their work, and others took the opportunity to engage in a little socializing, as Jo took a few steps towards the classroom door.

Suddenly Jocelyn stopped in her tracks and inhaled sharply, gasping as if short of breath, then staggered backwards. Professor Weasley was at the ill girl's side in seconds.

He was just in time to catch Jocelyn as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell backwards, unconscious.

***

"Drink it!"

"Professor, please don't let her make me drink it," Jocelyn begged Ron, pushing the goblet Madam Pomfrey was attempting to force down her throat away. The stuff smelled awful, and likely tasted five times as bad. Professor Weasley, who was standing next to the cot she'd been placed on, gave her an apologetic look. First the poor girl had fainted in class, then there'd been no empty beds in the hospital wing, and now she was forced to sleep on a rock-hard cot and drink a liquid with the appeal of old socks.

"Drink it, young lady. Now!" Madam Pomfrey snapped.

"But – "

"_Now!" Jocelyn obediently gulped down the goblet, made a face, then slumped back onto her pillow, her eyelids drooping. Within seconds the seventh-year girl had slipped into a healthy, dreamless sleep. Taking a deep breath, Ron grabbed his black robes, which he had slung over a chair, and turned to Madam Pomfrey, smiling nervously._

"Well I'll just be going then…" he began, attempting to inch out of the hospital wing. The aged hospital matron had become somewhat eccentric in her old age, and, in Ron's opinion, quite mad. To make matters worse, she had taken quite a liking to him at the end of last year. Ron usually avoided the hospital wing at all costs.

"Oh don't be _silly_, Professor Weasley!" the hospital matron laughed shrilly, firmly clamping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not letting you out of my _sight until I make sure that you don't have the same thing this poor girl's got!"_

Ron winced as Madam Pomfrey, surprisingly strong for her age, forced him into a chair and slid something metallic and very cold under his shirt. Ron yelped, jumping up.

"Good God, woman!" he roared. "What in the blazes was that?!"

Madam Pomfrey smiled, wagging her finger at him as if he was a naughty student. "A stethoscope, Professor Weasley!" She laughed again, and Ron was vividly reminded of nails scraping on a chalkboard.

"A Muggle device," Madam Pomfrey explained, "but very useful nonetheless. Now will you _sit_ – " Ron was forced back into the chair. " – down and let me have a look at you?"

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher could see no alternate means of escape. Ron winced, but consented to let her place the small, icy device back on his body. He breathed in, and then out, his flesh crawling as Madam Pomfrey moved the apparatus across his chest.

"All right," the hospital matron finally said reluctantly. She seemed hesitant to release him. "Everything looks to be fine…"

"Excellent," Ron said hastily, jumping up. He sloppily tucked his shirt back in and shrugged on his robes as Madam Pomfrey sighed heavily and went to check on one of her other charges.

Ron noticed absently that the hospital wing was, seemingly, the popular place to be these days; the lines of beds were occupied by twenty or so students. In a school the size of Hogwarts, and at the beginning of winter, this wouldn't seem odd to most people. But Madam Pomfrey could fix a cough or a cold in seconds, and then usually sent the students on their merry way. In a school where magic could be used to cure almost all ailments, twenty sick students - give or take a few - was quite a lot.

His glanced over at a petite figure, sitting by one of the beds, her back to him. Ron immediately felt a blush colouring his cheeks, embarrassed that someone may have been watching that rather awkward scene with Madam Pomfrey. But as the girl stood up and turned around, Ron felt a grin tug at his mouth.

"Hullo, Row!" he called cheerfully. The tiny girl jumped a bit, breathing another sigh of relief when she turned around to see that it was only Ron. Her hair, an orange-reddish colour, was pulled back haphazardly into a ponytail as usual, several pieces of it falling out or sticking up. She pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and smiled shyly.

"Hello Professor Weasley," she returned, looking at the ground.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that Professor Weasley nonsense any more," Ron shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. "You're a bona fide member of the staff now, aren't you?"

Rowan Richardson's pale face flushed with pride, and she started playing with the necklace that hung around her neck. She had been in Ron's seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts class last year. A shy girl with few close friends, Rowan had rightly earned her place in Hufflepuff; she was a hard-working student, even though she usually only got half-decent marks. Ron had immediately taken a liking to the sweet-tempered girl, probably because she reminded him of Ginny - in looks and, somewhat, in nature. He had been thrilled for her, and surprised, when she had been offered an apprenticeship at Hogwarts, serving as one of the professor's aids. He'd been even more surprised, and _not_ so thrilled for her, when he'd discovered it was Professor Trelawney.

On closer inspection, Ron could see that Rowan's face was paler than usual, the freckles across the bridge of her nose contrasting starkly with her ashen face. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she seemed to be shyly fidgeting even more than usual. Ron felt suddenly angry with Trelawney; knowing her, she'd already frightened the poor girl out of her mind with predictions of doom and gloom. He felt even sorrier for her if she actually had some Divination talent, because Trelawney was going to be no help to her there. However, Ron reminded himself that Rowan had been offered the apprenticeship because Sybill Trelawney had decided to retire at the end of the year, and this thought cheered him a bit.

"So what're you doing down here in the morgue?" Ron joked. He immediately wished he could take it back – Rowan's face had just gone even paler, if possible, and she was now wringing her hands.

"Oh…" she said in a strangely high-pitched voice."A…a student wasn't feeling well…Professor Trelawney asked me to bring him down to the hospital wing," she nodded her head towards the bed she'd been sitting by.

Ron eyed her chalk-white pallor. "Maybe you should stay for a check-up too," he advised. "You're not looking very well, Row."

"Oh no, _I'm_ fine," Rowan answered, looking flustered. She cast a worried look at the beds around her and bit her lip. She looked as if she wanted to tell Ron something.

"Erm – Professor?" Rowan said in the barest of whispers, taking a step forward. The light from the setting sun suddenly blazed through the window, illuminating the copper-coloured hairs falling out of her ponytail. "Could I…I just need to talk to you…only for a second - "

"Busy, busy, _busy_," Madam Pomfrey announced loudly, startling both Ron and Rowan. She began bustling from bed to bed; checking a temperature here, placing a cold cloth on a forehead there. "I'm getting too _old_ for this."

"Mmhmm," Ron replied vaguely, attempting to get back to what Rowan was trying to tell him. His light-heartedness was gone; he suddenly had a very bad feeling in his gut. It only increased as he stared at Rowan, who seemed almost on the verge of tears.

"I…I really have to go," she said, seeming to lose her nerve. She started towards the door to the hospital wing, the Professor's robes she wore looking overly large on the tiny girl. Ron was just about to open his mouth to ask her to hang on a minute, when Rowan abruptly turned around, mouthed the words, "Good luck," and disappeared. Ron stared after his former student, at first assuming that she meant good luck getting away from Pomfrey. But remembering the look on her face, Ron began to think otherwise. He scratched his head.

"I've had to bear with Muggle flu season before, but this is ridiculous!" Madam Pomfrey was still rambling on, oblivious. "Eighteen students out of classes – nineteen, with Miss Coles here – and more are coming in every minute!"

Ron abruptly straightened as a thought – a farfetched one, but a thought nonetheless – occurred to him. It probably would have never hit him before, but Rowan's strange nervousness and mysterious good luck message had unnerved him. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as the horrible thought flashed through his mind again. _Flu._ That word sounded familiar. But it couldn't possibly be an abbreviation for…

"Muggle flu season?" Ron croaked, and then stopped to clear his throat.

"Oh _yes_, or some nonsense like that. That's what the Muggle news is saying, anyhow," Madam Pomfrey explained with relish, obviously thrilled that someone actually wanted to listen to what she had to say. She bent over Jocelyn again, sticking a magical thermometer in the girl's mouth. It promptly shouted out the girl's temperature in a squeaky voice.

"It really pays to read the Muggle papers, you know," Madam Pomfrey said matter-of-factly. "They're making _fascinating leaps in medicine every day! The ways they cope without magic, _really_ unbelievable – "_

"Flu…as in influenza?" Ron asked faintly.

"Why _yes!_ I believe that's the full name for it," Madam Pomfrey said in surprise, looking at Ron in delight. "You know your illnesses, Professor Weasley!"

Ron felt ill himself; it was nothing to be proud of. It was difficult to find his voice. "Wasn't there a…a Muggle pandemic? Before? With influenza?" Ron tried hopelessly to sound casual and mildly curious, and failed miserably.

Madam Pomfrey straightened, not able to hide her delight that someone actually wanted to listen to her ramblings. "Why _yes, there was," she said gravely. "I _believe_ it was back in 1918, during or after the First Great War…_millions_ of Muggles died, it was horrible. But it didn't affect our kind, thank heavens."_

Ron briefly tuned Madam Pomfrey out, closing his eyes and massaging his temples; he knew that. Ron had heard all that he needed to hear. The former Auror knew the rest of the story too well.

"…and so Hebert Hedgeclip the Healer - with, believe it or not, the help of a select few _Muggle_ scientists - finally developed a potion that prevented the Muggles from catching influenza. The Vaccinus Potion was lethal if ingested, however, so the Muggles thought of this really _brilliant_ idea - they put the potion in a needle and _injected_ it into people. They made up some fancy scientific story to feed to the Muggles, and called it a vaccination. It worked _wonders; I don't think anyone has died from the flu alone in ages. Still, the Vaccinus Potion isn't _totally_ perfect, and around this time of year a few Muggles who have weak immune systems or haven't had their shots still get sick. But __this," Madam Pomfrey gestured around, "is ridiculous! And some of their symptoms are new. Not in forty years have I - "_

"Madam Pomfrey," Ron interrupted urgently, now feeling a sense of foreboding descending upon him. "The students…the ones here…" he gestured to the lines of beds, "are they _all Muggle-born then?"_

The hospital matron folded her arms. "Well _yes, weren't you listening? The flu doesn't affect our kind."_

Ron's heart was now racing. "Could you – could you check?" he asked throatily, feeling his hands start to tremble. He quickly shoved them in his pockets, embarrassed but still feeling shaken nonetheless.

"I _suppose_…" Madam Pomfrey answered, shaking her head. She disappeared into her office, adjacent to the hospital wing, and Ron was forced to wait out there, amongst the sick. Breathing heavily, he looked around at the bed-ridden kids. There was a slim chance that anything had happened, that it had been found – Madam Pomfrey seemed to be surprised about the number of sick kids, but not _worried - and yet that feeling of anxiety would not go away._

The hospital matron returned, jerking Ron out of his own little world and back to reality. He shakily crossed the room, where the hospital matron was thumbing through the files of all of her charges. "Hm, let's see now…Brady, Amelia…first-year student, et cetera, et cetera; two siblings, both graduated…mother, Muggle; father, Muggle."

Ron's swallowed hard. _Just one,_ he reminded himself. _That's just one…_

"Coles, Jocelyn…both parents Muggle. Gregory, Elisa…both parents Muggle. Lawrence-Lochlan, Christopher…both parents Muggle. McKenzie, Elijah…mother, Muggle; father, wizard."

Ron breathed. There was a Half-Blood. Then it was all just a coincidence, and he'd gotten worked up over nothing. _It was the Muggles and the Muggle-borns they targeted, not the Half-Bloods, Ron reminded himself, sighing in relief._

"Oh, wait just a moment, now," Madam Pomfrey frowned, running her finger down the piece of parchment. "Never mind. His _step-father is a wizard; his __birth father was a Muggle. Mr. McKenzie's a Muggle-born too, then. Now, let's see, who else…McNeal, Ryan…both parents Mug – "_

"That's enough," Ron whispered, holding up a hand to stop. The feeling of relief had disappeared, and he now felt nauseous. "Are they…are they all like that?"

Pomfrey skimmed through the folders, looking more and more curious. "Yes, it seems. I told you, _Muggle_ flu season." She glanced up, seeing the look on Professor Weasley's now pale face. "Are you _sure_ you're feeling alright?" she asked suspiciously, fingering the stethoscope hanging around her neck.

It was painful to swallow. Ron tried again, and nodded. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine…"

"I wouldn't worry about it, Professor, it doesn't mean anything," the hospital matron said lightly, closing the folders and tucking them under her arm. "These children are _obviously not getting enough Vitamin C in their diet, that's all," she said darkly._

"They all have the same symptoms?"

"Well, yes, it seems. But, as I said, it's a branch of the flu I'm not familiar with. Particularly _nasty_ strain, too. But a few weeks' rest, and they'll all be back on their feet!"

Ron wanted to believe it. He wanted believe it so badly that it physically hurt to think otherwise. But his Auror training had already kicked in; alarms were sounding in his head, and he suddenly had the impression that he had to act, and fast. The Ministry had probably already read the signs, just as he had, but still…

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Ron said in a raspy voice, trying not to look at the row of pale faces on either side of him. "I…I've got to go send an owl…"

"Alright, Professor," said the hospital matron, and her tone was sweet once more, a note of fondness present in her usually strict tone. "Don't hesitate to visit!" she called after him.

Ron felt his feet carrying him to the Owlery, even though his mind was otherwise occupied. Madam Pomfrey's words echoed in his head. If his worst fears were confirmed, he wouldn't need to visit the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would soon have all the company she needed.

***

Ron lay on his bed, fully clothed, too exhausted to move. Though he hadn't done anything physically strenuous today, he felt sick and fatigued with worry. Hermione had seen him in the corridors on his return from the Owlery, and had immediately demanded to know what was wrong. He had brushed even her off, muttering something about having a headache. It was partly true; his head _did hurt from the thoughts swirling around in it at a dizzying pace. He didn't know as much as Harry did about the Scrolls of Scuro – the Aurors had just begun to aid the Unspeakables in their investigation of the scrolls' whereabouts when Ron had abruptly been called to Hogwarts last year – but Harry's ominous warning kept replaying over and over again in his head, like a bad play on a pair of Omnioculars._

_"That one is still out there. And it could still do a hell of a lot of damage alone. If some deranged person got a hold of it…"_

"Who's gonna know how to read them though? Aren't they written in ancient gobblygook or something?" Ron repeated his own response to Harry out loud, massaging his temples. Who _would _know how to read them? He knew far too little, and it exasperated him. He needed to know more.

This had been his favourite part of being an Auror – Harry had covered the heroics, and Ron had always tried to use logic to solve the numerous puzzles that they had encountered. Dark wizards may have been ignorant, but they weren't stupid. In fact, they were conniving and manipulative, and enjoyed toying with the Aurors' minds.

Ron had always risen to the challenge; he'd never been very academically ambitious, like Hermione, but he had loved a challenge. Growing up and having to contend with five older brothers had made him competitive and determined. It had led him to fervently believe that whatever someone could do, he was sure he could do it better.

Ron had understood completely what was going on in some of those Dark wizards' minds. It was exactly like chess. They would always move their pawns first, and they'd sacrifice them willingly, because most of them were cowards. Ron almost smiled in the darkness of his room. Pawns were vital in a game of chess; they were, by far, the most important pieces. The powers of evil always underestimated their pawns. More importantly, they underestimated the pawns of their opponents. And, in the end, it was always their downfall.

Ron rolled over onto his side, the feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach refusing to disappear. He felt helpless here at Hogwarts, and being helpless always infuriated him. Yet the past year or so of teaching at Hogwarts had been the best of his life. No vampires, no werewolves, no evil plots, no puzzles to solve. Just him and Hermione. It was pure bliss.

Still, that feeling nagged at him, and Ron realized, his heart sinking, that it was guilt. "Damn conscience," Ron muttered to himself hoarsely, but he couldn't stop the guilty thoughts from pouring into his mind. Harry may have needed him. The Ministry may have needed him. And who did they have instead? Diana Drago. Ron groaned in the dark.

To his surprise, his groan of frustration was answered by an urgent tapping at his window. Exhaustion forgotten, Ron leaped out of bed and hurried over to the window, where an important-looking owl was hovering. Ron slid the window open, feeling a blast of cold November air hit him with full force. The owl tumbled into his room, followed by a tiny snowflake or two. It would snow tomorrow. Hogwarts would be beautiful in its winter splendor. He'd challenged a couple of his sixth-years to a snowball fight outside as soon as the first snow fell. He, Professor Roberts, and Professor Wood had decided to go down to Hogsmeade for a Bloody Merlin tomorrow. Ron had planned to curl up with Hermione in front of the fireplace in her bedroom.

_"There are these psychos out there, Weasley. This is what they've been waiting for…"_

Ron snapped back to reality, untying the piece of parchment from the regal, tawny owl's leg. His fingers slipped; he knew the seal on the letter well. And he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what would be written on the piece of parchment, in the small, but bold cursive he'd come to know so well. Ron unfurled the letter and closed his eyes after reading the two words written on it:

_Surreptitus Scriptay.___

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Confused? You should be. Mwahaha! I play to reveal things veeeeeery slowly, so as to build suspense and get everyone puzzled and possibly mad at me. Maduzzled? 

But don't worry, more will be revealed my friends. Everything will eventually come together and make sense, if things go as planned…*shifty eyes*.

Now, speaking of reviews, it's getting to that point in the fic where I desperately need feedback, because if the plot is shaping up to be incredibly stupid, I need to know. Your honesty is greatly appreciated. I'm swayable on almost everything so far depending on what kind of feedback I get, except for H/G. Because dude, it's not gonna happen. Sorry. v_v

_For those of you who do not bother to read these stupid notes that I leave every chapter, here is a summary of this chapter's notes:_

Maduzzled is not a word according to the good people at Microsoft. Shifty eyes. Need feedback. **_Review!_**


	7. Meetings

**Author's Notes: **Well, despite (and, party due to) exams, I've managed to write – gasp! – two chapters. That's right, _two_ new chapters! And the beginnings of a third! You see, I sit here and study an hour for exams, and then come down and work on this fic for half an hour as a break. Hour for exams, half hour for fic…a little bit of sauce, a little bit of cheese. And so on, and so forth. But no one really cares about my life story, so let's just get on with it.

OK, let me just say that Ivy Moss is my favourite person in the world right now – she drew an amazingly amazing picture for me of Diana Drago in Bury the Hatchet! Though this isn't Bury the Hatchet, it _is_ its sequel, and Diana _will make an appearance very soon, so I figured I'd mention the picture here._

You may view it at: Props to you, Ivy Moss! Props – to – you. ^_^

_Note:_ The first section of this chapter was divinely inspired by "When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down. Rock on.

Now without further ado, I bring you Chapter 7, which is probably the longest chapter I've ever written in my life.

***

Ron Weasley had long ago mastered the art of stealth. It was essential for an Auror.

And so he found himself silently creeping into Hermione's bedroom, his large feet padding on the wooden floor soundlessly. He closed the heavy, oak door to her bedroom softly, and then silently moved towards her bed.

The piece of parchment in his trouser pocket felt as heavy as lead, the two words written on it echoing over and over again in Ron's head. _Surreptitus Scriptay. It had been the only thing he'd agreed to, in case of a real emergency, when he had permanently decided to leave the Ministry and stay in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts._

It had been decided well before Ron's time that Owl Post was not a reliable means of communication between the Aurors. So the codes had been developed – only two or three words scribbled on a piece of parchment could communicate loads of information to those who knew the Aurors' secret language. _Surreptitus Scriptay_ was one of the most important, and, coincidentally, one of the direst codes.

It meant leave. Immediately. Without telling anyone (or any_thing – who could forget the infamous story of Melvin Magistry, who, out of loneliness, told his talking toilet about his confidential missions and caused the Ministry a hell of a lot of trouble) where you were going, or even that you were leaving. It meant an urgent situation was at hand, and that the Auror who had received the message was to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic at once._

Ron, however, had no way of getting there from Hogwarts. He'd need to get permission from Dumbledore – whom he didn't feel like looking for at two o'clock in the morning - ahead of time to use Floo Powder. And he wasn't entirely sure that he still had his Auror's privileges, which had allowed him to Apparate into and out of Hogwarts. He wasn't too eager to find out and end up getting splinched.

Ron understood the rules, and he had agreed to them. But he wasn't an Auror any more, and he had stressed that he was only to be called upon in an extreme emergency. He silently stood next to Hermione's bed, watching her sleep. The former Auror paused, hesitating; _Surreptitus Scriptay_ strictly forbade telling anyone where he was going. Plus, if _he of all people had been summoned, it meant something was seriously wrong; the Aurors must have needed all the help they could possibly get. Fearing the worst after his revelation in the hospital wing, Ron stood there by Hermione's bed, debating with himself. Suddenly a small sigh broke through his thoughts._

Hermione rolled over, still sleeping peacefully, her hair dishevelled and wild. She clutched her pillow with one arm; the other was resting by her side, clutching her blankets tightly. Ron smiled despite himself; even in sleep Hermione was restless. She always slept in a twisted mess, rolling and turning every three seconds until she was completely tangled in her sheets and both her hair and nightdress were a mess. 

She murmured something under her breath and, to Ron's surprise, reached out towards him. Then she seemed to change her mind, muttered something else, and rolled over onto her back, her lips forming a small smile as she slept. Ron absently reached out a hand to fix her blankets, and then suddenly drew it away as if it had been burned. His stomach seemed to disappear and was filled with a gnawing, cold sensation as something occurred to him.

Hermione was a Muggle-born.

Ron felt his heart quicken as he took a step backward; suddenly the situation seemed even more desperate, even more urgent. He couldn't let Hermione get sick. He couldn't let Hermione get hurt. Those were the only thoughts in his mind as he backed out of the room, suddenly dazed with the seriousness of the situation.

_All of this, over five pieces of parchment, Ron thought, shaking as he backed towards Hermione's bedroom door. __Those sick bastards. People could die…Hermione…could…_

Whatever the sickening end to Ron's thought was, he never got to complete it; there was a loud clatter as he tripped over something heavy and solid - Hermione's old, wooden trunk, loaded with every book she'd ever owned. Ron tumbled to the ground, feeling incredibly unstealthy, tangled up in his own long limbs. He winced as Hermione made a sound, and then sat up in bed, eyes half shut. Ron quickly got up and crossed back over to her bed. He shivered at the contented sigh she let out as he bent down, brushing her chaotic hair out of her eyes and putting his face close to hers.

"Ron?" she murmured sleepily, fighting to keep her eyes open. She extended a hand towards his face. Her fingers left a trail of electricity where they touched his face. "What're you…"

"Shh," Ron whispered, feeling a large lump form in his throat as he realized what he had to do. "Go back to sleep, Hermione."

But Hermione was becoming more awake and more alert by the second, and now her eyes were fully open, looking puzzled. "What time is it? Oh no, did I sleep in?!" she made a move to get up, suddenly panicked, and Ron would have laughed if things had been different.

"No, no, you didn't sleep in," Ron murmured, still playing with her hair. He'd heard of men that had been called away by _Surreptitus Scriptay_ and had been away for years. Ron's insides disappeared again, and he tried to shake the thought away.

"Hermione, I…I have to go away, just for a little bit."

Hermione looked alarmed by his tone. "Why? Where? Right _now?"_

Ron couldn't help the words from spilling out. "It's the Ministry. I agreed…to conditions. Certain emergencies…I told them they could call on me. It's the Muggles…they're after them…I think Harry needs my help, but I don't know, they just said to come…"

Hermione looked apprehensive. "Ron, you're not making any sense…"

Quite suddenly, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips to Hermione's, kissing her in the same desperate way he had last year, in the dungeons, for the first time in seven years. Her lips were warm and comforting as they moved against his own. His hands moved up the bare skin of her arm. He didn't want to let go.

They broke apart, and were both quite breathless. Hermione looked at him with apprehension in her eyes. "Ron," she repeated quietly, fear creeping into her voice as she searched his blue eyes. "What _is it?"_

Ron opened his mouth to tell her about the scrolls, about his fears, about the owl he'd sent to the Ministry, about _Surreptitus Scriptay_. But no sound came out, and he felt the weight of his duty and the oaths he'd taken years ago weigh on his shoulders. He should have never come there. His hand shaking, Ron closed his eyes and drew his wand. When he opened them again, Hermione was staring at him, curious and frightened. Feeling nauseous again, Ron raised his wand to point it at Hermione. Her eyes widened.

"Hermione…I'm so sorry…" he whispered, his voice cracking."I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have come. You can't know…I'm so sorry…it's for your own protection. I just don't want you to get hurt…"

"Ron – "

Ron looked away, trying to keep his wand steady. "_Obliviate__."_

***

Ron crept around in the eerie darkness that was Hogwarts at night, feeling numb. He'd just performed a Memory Charm on his girlfriend. Hermione was going to murder him if she ever found out. But it was for her own protection, for her own good. There was a reason the Aurors were sworn to absolute secrecy, after all. After Voldemort's return, loved ones had at first been trusted with secrets, and had paid dearly. They'd had to bear the weight of those secrets, and some had even been tortured because of them. The Death Eaters had been merciless in their quest for information…

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher suddenly stopped, realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was going. He quickly made up his mind to get off the castle grounds and then Apparate to the Ministry. Now filled with a purpose, Ron made his way past the suits of armour, glinting in the moonlight in the grand entrance hall. The light of the moon streamed in through the enormous skylight in the ceiling, making a circular pool of light on the tiled floor.

Ron abruptly stopped in the circle of light, drawing his wand, his eyes darting around the darkened hall. He heard a faint chuckle on his left, and whirled around to see none other than Albus Dumbledore standing there.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief and tucked his wand back up his sleep. To his surprise, Dumbledore was clothed in his regular robes, as if he had been expecting to meet Ron there. Ron attempted to imagine Dumbledore in pyjamas, and nearly snorted as he came up with an image of the bent old man wearing navy blue, silk pyjamas with stars and moons on them.

"Professor Weasley," Dumbledore greeted him casually, as if meeting in the entrance hall at two thirty in the morning was a common occurrence. "I thought you would have been gone by now."

Ron started; but then, of course, Dumbledore knew practically everything. He had contacts at the Ministry, and had probably found out about the emergency, whatever it was, before Ron had. Feeling slightly irritated at this, yet relieved that he wouldn't have to explain his absence to Dumbledore when he returned, Ron nodded stiffly.

"I…had some things to take care of first," he replied, shouldering the bag he'd brought along, containing some clothes and other essentials.

"Hm," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "In Professor Granger's bedroom?"

Ron felt his ears burn red, and Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled all the more. The man himself was hunched with age, yet he was still far healthier than he had been last year. And though he leaned heavily on a cane, the Headmaster's sense of humour never faltered. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Don't miss anything, do you?" Ron asked sarcastically, still amazed after a year and a half that he could now address his former Headmaster in that tone and get away with it.

"Ah, young love," Dumbledore sighed, a smile hidden by his long, white beard. "I once felt it myself," he admitted, straightening a bit. "Her name was Hippolyta, and she was the best toad a young wizard could have ever hoped for..."

Ron cleared his throat very loudly.

"…but, alas! She was doomed to be transfigured into a teacup, quite by accident. Alas, alas for Hippolyta – "

"Headmaster, do you know what this whole business is all about?" Ron interrupted impatiently. If Harry was the one who had sent the message, he was going to kill him. Precious minutes were slipping by, and Harry hated it when Ron showed up late, which he was notorious for doing.

Dumbledore turned grim, and shifted his weight to rest more heavily on his cane. "I believe you know the answer to that."

"The scrolls."

"Singular, Professor Weasley. There is only one scroll that the Ministry is concerned with, and it is the one that is currently missing."

"What about the others, though?" Ron demanded. "Harry told me that the Ministry has them, but where the hell are they? I mean, it's not just our Ministry that's concerned with the bloody things - are they even in the country? Because you can't trust those Bulgarians, you know - " Ron realized he was carrying on and abruptly stopped talking. 

"The other four Scrolls of Scuro are in excellent hands, I assure you," Dumbledore replied evenly, and Ron could've sworn his eyes twinkled again. "They're quite safe."  
"They'd better be," Ron muttered fervently.

"Now, perhaps you should hurry; I'm sure Nicholas can explain these matters far better than I," Dumbledore urged gently. "I only came to bid you good luck, Professor."

Ron remembered with a jolt Rowan Richardson's words in the hospital wing. She'd been talking about this. Ron briefly wondered if the kid had the makings of a Seer after all. He nodded at the Headmaster; Dumbledore smiled and turned, disappearing back into the semi-darkness that was Hogwarts at night.

"By the way," Dumbledore's voice called mildly from somewhere on his far left. "I have been told that you may Apparate out of Hogwarts and into the Ministry with no trouble. But I suggest you do not go recommending it to the other professors. They could find themselves in a nasty situation if they did."

Ron nodded again to no one in particular, then briefly shut his eyes and concentrated. There was an empty black void for the briefest of seconds, and then with a small pop, Ron found himself inside the Ministry of Magic.

He was instantly jostled to the side as someone pushed by him, several files and documents in hand. Ron barely had time to wonder why the hell anyone was working at nearly three o'clock in the morning before he realized he'd been pushed right into a large, leafy plant that had been snoozing contently in its pot. The plant, which was now very much awake, snapped violently at him, irritable, and Ron quickly jumped away.

The person who had bumped into him turned around, arms laden with papers and red hair sticking up awkwardly. "Percy," Ron said in surprise as his brother pushed up his glasses, while attempting to balance his stack of papers with only one arm. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," Percy replied, looking confused but not surprised to see him. "I'm working a bit late. I'm a very busy man, you know. As for you, Mr. Foran from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement told me that, if I see you, to let you know that they're expecting you." He glanced at Ron suspiciously. "What's this all about?"

"Never mind, Percy," Ron snapped. "Get back to work. I'm sure a very _busy man like yourself has things to do."_

Percy let out a disdainful sniff. "Well then. Nice to see you as well, Ron," he rolled his eyes. "Do you happen to have the time?" he added, attempting to look at his watch under the stack of papers.

"It's nearly three in the morning," Ron returned, folding his arms. He watched Percy's eyes go wide.

"Three – three in the morning?" he gulped. "I had no idea it was that late…oh, Penelope is going to _kill_ me for staying this late again…" Without another word to his brother, Percy turned around and rushed down the corridor, a few papers flying out of his arms. Ron shook his head, picked a leaf out of his hair, and briefly looked around.

The hallway shone brightly from the many lamps lit along the corridor. Attractive marble walls on his right were completely covered by portraits of past Ministers for Magic, and those who had won the Order of Merlin. Ron caught a glimpse of Hebert Hedgeclip himself, dozing in his laboratory. Plants were strategically placed here and there for decoration, and, Ron supposed, for oxygen – it often got very crowded in the Ministry of Magic building. The wall on his left was broken by large windows, which faced out onto the courtyard in front of the building, where the Hogwarts professors had watched the Crump/Stark debate take place. The marble floors were polished so much that Ron could see his reflection in them, and he wryly thought of where he had spent most of _his_ time in this building.

The various Ministry departments and their offices were all found on the many upper levels, which were always bright, polished, and clean. But all the dirty work went on in the lower levels of the building, which were dim, cold, and reminded Ron vaguely of Hogwarts in the winter. Down there you could find Mad-Eye Moody thumping about, or young Aurors in training working out in the gym, or the Unspeakables holding unspeakable meetings in hushed tones about their unspeakable work. Ron and Harry had had a makeshift office which was nothing more than an alcove carved out of the stone walls. Ron grimaced at the cheery, polished corridor around him.

The former Auror jolted back to reality. Lack of sleep caused his eyes to water, and nerves made him feel ill. Thinking of Hermione – both what he'd just had to do to her, and the prospect of her getting sick – Ron felt a fresh wave of energy, fuelled mostly by anger, jolt through him.

He purposefully started walking down the gleaming corridor. He'd come full circle in emotions in just one night – first he'd felt helpless and disappointed when he'd received the letter, anxious when he thought about what it might mean, and now he felt angry. He'd had to put a Memory Charm on his girlfriend, leave his home in the middle of the night, and had just been shoved into a man-eating plant. Ron's sleep-deprived mind cast about for someone to blame other than himself, and came up with the people who'd summoned him. His anxiousness disappeared with a new wave of annoyance, and Ron breathed again. Anger was an easier emotion to deal with than fear. He made a sharp left and entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Doors lined the corridor, which was very clean, but not quite as fancy as the main one Ron had just come from. There were several different signs hanging around in mid-air, pointing in the direction of corridors that branched off of this one, and also at certain doors. Ron passed under one that read _Offices; Magical Law Enforcement Squad in shiny, emerald lettering with an arrow pointing left, and stopped before another sign pointing towards a closed door, which read _Nicholas J. Foran; Department Head.__

Ron heard muffled voices coming from the direction of the door, and stomped towards it. Just as he was reaching for the handle, there was a small pop. Ron jumped backwards, swearing, and glared at the tall, pimpled young man who had just Apparated in front of him. He was wearing a silver and gold uniform, the letters MoM emblazoned across a badge on his chest. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and looked at Ron apologetically.

"Sorry!" the kid said hastily. "I just…I can't let you in there…" he faltered.

Ron sighed heavily. "I'm an Auror."

The young man nervously eyed Ron's Hogwarts robes. "You don't…you don't look like one…"

"What is this, your first day on the job?" Ron said irritably. He reached out to shove the young security guard aside. "Move."

"No! I can't!" he squeaked, standing his ground though his knees shook. Quivering, he reached for his wand. "I-I was told not to let anyone in but an Agent Weasley!"

"That's…me…" Ron explained slowly, so that the kid would understand.

"But…"

"Oh, for the love of – " Ron impatiently grabbed his robe sleeve, and yanked it up. He thrust his wrist in the kid's face. "There."

The young guard leaned in closely, peering at the mark on Ron's wrist. It was small and subtle, and anyone else may have thought it to simply be a birthmark or a scar. But the tiny mark was neither. If one looked closely, they could see two small rings joined together; the mark of an Auror. The kid's face went red, and he immediately began stammering apologies.

"S-so sorry…they t-told me an Auror was coming…H-Hogwarts robes, I-I never…"

Ron took pity on the kid, feeling some of his annoyance ebb away. "We all make mistakes. What's your name kid?"

"Edward…well, Eddie…Eddie Collins. It won't h-happen again, sir," Eddie said sheepishly, stepping aside. Ron nodded to him, and then entered the room.

Several pairs of eyes, most with bags under them, looked up at Ron expectantly. They were all seated around a square, wooden table in the middle of the large office, with the exception of Nicholas Foran, who was seated at his own desk further back. A thin brunette in the corner of the room gave him a severe look through square glasses which did not suit the very young woman.

"Agent Weasley, I presume?" she asked, looking annoyed. "You are…" she glanced at her watch, "twenty-four minutes late. I gave you an _hour from the time that Mr. Moody sent out his owl. That should have been more than enough time for the owl to arrive, and then for you to quickly pack and Apparate here."_

Ron gave the young brunette an irritated look, feeling anger begin to well up in him again. "I was _delayed_," he said, crossing his arms. "First by Dumbledore, then by the five-year-old kid you have guarding this place. And how fast would _you be if you were woken up in the middle of the bloody night, whoever the hell you are - !"_

"Alright, Weasley, alright," Mad-Eye Moody growled. He was the only person not seated in the spacious office, choosing instead to pace the room, his wooden leg thunking every step of the way. "Sit down."

"No, I won't sit down!" Ron was on a roll. "Whatever this is, Moody, it'd better bloody well be good, because I only agreed to this stupid thing in case of an emergency, and being woken up at – "

"Potter's missing," Moody said bluntly.

Ron stared, his mouth opening and closing. "Oh," he managed to say hoarsely, and sunk into a chair, a strange feeling overcoming him.

"And I think you _know_ what's going on, according to this letter." Mad-Eye produced the very letter Ron had written in a nervous frenzy after visiting the hospital wing. Ron blinked; he'd nearly forgotten about it. The room fell silent, and the young woman cleared her throat loudly, glancing at the clipboard on her lap.

"Now that _everyone," she looked pointedly at Ron, "is finally here, I think we'd all like to get this meeting underway. Roll call, please!"_

"Merlin's beard, _every_ damn time - " a Scottish voice began on Ron's right. He glanced over to see Owen Darnell, a fellow Auror. His fair blonde hair was wavy and long, though not quite as long as Bill's, and the scar on his chin was more prominent than ever. He gave Ron a grin and a nod, but his hazel eyes looked troubled. "Let's just skip the damn roll call and get to business Sophie, there's a good lass."

The girl with the clipboard ignored him. She couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen. "Sophi_a_," she corrected in a bossy voice that reminded Ron of someone. "Roll call." When everyone remained silent, she looked to Nicholas Foran for help, who was seated at his desk. There was more white flecking his dark hair than when Ron had last seen him.

"Nicholas J. Foran, Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Head," he promptly announced in a monotonous voice, and then gave a stern look, not unlike Sophia's, to everyone else in the office.

Some muttering from Moody's side of the room punctured his leg's thumps. "Alastor Moody…Order of Aurors…Head. There."

"Bloody…argh. Owen Darnell, Auror."

"Bartholomew Bode, Unspeakable."

"Jonathan Ford, History of Magic Specialist," said an unfamiliar man with an American accent. Ron craned his neck to see an older man with spectacles, parted grey-black hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache shuffling a few papers.

Now feeling panic creeping on after Moody's abrupt words, Ron almost squirmed in his seat, eager to get on with it so that he could find out how to help Harry. He noticed with a start that Sophia was glaring at him again.

"Ron Weasley," he said impatiently. Ron suddenly hesitated, glancing at Mad-Eye. The look in Moody's one real eye answered his unspoken question. "Auror," Ron finished.

"Sophia Foran, Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Secretary," Sophia finished with relish, scribbling something on her clipboard. Ron furrowed his eyebrows, glancing back at Nick Foran. Sophia had the same steely grey eyes.

"Good. Now, Mr. Weasley…I have read your letter," Nicholas began, clasping his hands together on his desk and looking grave, "and it isn't anything we don't already know about."

Ron felt his heart sink. "So…it's been found?" he managed to say. "Someone's found the fourth scroll…and they've read it?"

"Yes," was Foran's short reply. "We'll return to that later. Right now, we should address the reason we brought you here…Mr. Potter."

"Wait," Ron interrupted, feeling torn. He wanted to find out about Harry immediately, but he also needed to know about the scroll, for Hermione's sake. He looked again to Mad-Eye, and decided that if Harry was in any immediate danger, he needed to know about that. Now. "What's happened to Harry?" he demanded. There was an exchanging of glances around the room, and then Moody cleared his throat.

"Before we discovered the fourth scroll had been found, Potter and Drago were in Egypt to investigate some suspicious activity going on down there," Moody explained in his low, growling voice. "This was about a month ago. The last owl we received from him said that he and Drago were going to split up to follow two different leads, even though we told them that the missing scroll had been found, and that they were just on a wild goose chase. Drago seemed intent on busting some dark device dealers in Cairo, and we have no idea where Potter took off to. That was the last we heard of either of them. And that was a fortnight ago."

Ron inhaled sharply. "What kind of suspicious activity?"

"We've been followin' the activities of a group of British treasure-hunters who've been hangin' about in Egypt lately," Darnell supplied. "Been involved in illegal activity in the past, the dirty wankers – "

"Mr. _Darnell!" Sophia Foran exclaimed, sounding scandalized. She gave him a disapproving look over her glasses. Ron thought this was very brave of her, since Darnell was about twice her age and twice her size._

Owen rolled his eyes, and then continued. "Anyway, they dig up dark devices and then hand them off to their partners to sell 'em on the black market. Those're the people Diana was after. And – "

" - Harry figured they wanted to find and sell the scroll we didn't have," Ron finished with a groan, "and went off and did something stupid."

"Actually, 'twas Diana who picked up a rumour about them bein' interested in the fourth scroll," Darnell admitted.

"Picked it up from where?" Ron said darkly, exchanging a suspicious look with Moody. Except the look Moody was giving him didn't exactly qualify as an exchange of suspiciousness. Ron bit his tongue and allowed them to continue.

"We apologize for having to contact you," Foran said in a very unapologetic voice. "But we have so far been unsuccessful in trying to locate Mr. Potter and Miss Drago, so…we had to call upon you." Nicholas' eyes strayed to Ron's wrist, and the young red-head gazed down at the faded mark.

"Ah," Ron said slowly. "I see."

"You've been separated from Potter for awhile now," Moody explained, "so we're not sure if it'll still work. But in the past we've had former Aurors come in and complain about aches and pains, only to find out that their old partners were in quite a mess."

"Only thing that damned spell is good for," Darnell piped up. He had chosen - Ron sometimes had thought wisely - not to take a partner.

The spell they were referring to was _Vitae Junxtus _– a complicated charm that was used to bind two people together emotionally, and physically. Ron and Harry had naturally decided during training to become partners in the Order, and thus had had to suffer through the painful spell. It left the mark of an Auror – the conjoined rings – on both their wrists.

But more important was the effect of the spell that could not be seen - the bonding of the two Aurors. Since Harry and Ron were already bonded by their strong friendship, after the spell was performed nothing had seemed amiss. That was, until Harry broke his leg after falling off his broom, during a nasty encounter with a renegade dragon. Ron remembered the string of curse words he'd let out as he had felt the agony in his own bones, miles away; though fortunately for Ron, _his_ bones had remained intact.

The spell functioned sort of as an alarm; if one Auror was in trouble, the other would know it. Particularly strong emotions could be felt through the bond as well, which was why Ron had been so surprised to learn about Harry's feelings for Ginny. Then again, Harry was so emotionally screwed up that Ron had pretty much become numb to Harry's frequent emotional roller coaster rides.

The last function of the spell, and the one that was important to the people seated around Ron right now, was that it allowed one partner in the bond to Apparate instantly to the location of the other. This was the entire purpose of the spell; if one Auror was in serious danger, the other would feel either emotional or physical distress, and would Apparate instantly to help.

Ron stared at the tiny mark, wondering if the bond was still intact. The mark had faded somewhat, but his friendship with Harry hadn't, even if they saw each other less often. Ron lifted his head to look at Moody. "What did Sirius say?"

Moody immediately frowned, making his distorted face contort strangely, and Ron thought he saw Foran shift uncomfortably in his seat. Sophia's quill had stopped its incessant scribbling, and she was now looking at him with the air of one who wasn't trying to look excited.

"Sirius? Black?" she breathed, looking very much like the young, wide-eyed girl she probably should have. Though Sirius' name had been cleared many years ago, it still caused recognition, respect, and even sometimes fear in those who heard it. The next moment Sophia had straightened, however, and was trying to look professional once more. "I…does he know about the situation, Mr. Foran?"

"Er…Mr. Black is unaware of the current situation," Nicholas said, clearing his throat. "We felt he would…do something foolish."

Ron silently agreed. Sirius would probably Apparate to Egypt and blast half the country to pieces in a frantic attempt to find his godson.

"We're attempting to keep this _entire_ business as low-key as possible," Foran went on to explain. "The Scrolls of Scuro have always been a matter for the Departments of Mysteries and occasionally Law Enforcement in the past. We'd have brought in your father or someone else from Muggle Security, but they're still attempting to get that department established and running…"

"And we can't have those knuckle-heads in Muggle _Relations_ finding out about this," Moody growled. "They'd all have anxiety attacks."

"But Black already knows about the scrolls," Darnell pointed out. He obviously didn't agree with keeping Sirius in the dark. Ron knew he had a young son of his own.

"All the same…" Nicholas cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. "Now, Mr. Weasley, if you think that the Binding Spell is still in effect, and you can find Mr. Potter, we'd like you to leave as soon as possible."

"We need Potter and Drago back. We're short on Aurors as it is," Moody muttered. Ron could have sworn he saw some worry in the old, grizzled face.

"I've brought in Mr. Ford here to give you an update," Foran explained, gesturing to the American man. "We've recently acquired him from the New York Institute of Magical History, and he's quite the expert on the Scrolls of Scuro and their origins. You are aware, of course, of the basics?"

"Five scrolls, each one designed to somehow screw the Muggles over," Ron said brusquely. "Developed in medieval times by some nutcase who wanted to take over the world. Hidden and then re-found a bunch of times by _other nutcases throughout history."_

Ron suddenly leaned forward, staring Mr. Ford down. "But what _I want to know," he said in a low, serious voice, "is who's after them now? And what, exactly, are we going to do about the one that's already been found?"_

"It's the Dark Hand, of course," a female voice said quite matter-of-factly. Ron slowly looked to Sophia Foran, still trying to place where he'd heard that know-it-all tone of voice before. Even the way she was trying to hide her delight at knowing the answer was strangely familiar. "Didn't you know?" she asked with an air of superiority.

"Obviously _not," Ron snapped harshly, making Sophia jump and return to her notes, trying to look formal again, though her cheeks turned a bit pink. Ron turned his attention back to Jonathan Ford and fixed him with an intense stare._

Ford looked slightly intimidated by Ron, but quickly cleared his throat and glanced down at the notes lying in his lap. "Well…to answer your first question, we believe that a fanatical terrorist group, established in medieval times, are pursuing them again," he suddenly became very sombre, and glanced up from his notes.

"They call themselves the Dark Hand," Ford said in a quiet voice. "They picked up the name from early texts that alluded to and spoke about the scrolls. They believe…that Muggles took wizard-kind's freedom, that they forced us into hiding during the Disappearance. However, historical documents and artefacts prove that it was, in fact, our _choice_ to go into hiding after the age of Merlin and the other great wizards. We felt that Muggles could not be trusted with the knowledge of the power of magic."

"Fanatical, anti-Muggle terrorist group," Ron said cynically. "Gee, now who does _that sound like?" He managed to resist the urge to cough, "Dameon Stark!"_

Ford glanced to Nicholas Foran, who had obviously understood the implications of Ron's comment, but nodded for Ford to continue without comment.

"The last time the scrolls were found and used was during one of the Muggle Great Wars, by the Dark Hand," Ford said grimly. "They'd managed to find four of them, which gave officials quite a scare – the Scrolls of Fear, Hate, Malady, and Death. The Scroll of Discord, thankfully, was not found, or else all of Muggle society would have fallen apart right then and there. After the First Great War - and the influenza pandemic - was over, most of the group's members were taken into custody and are either currently in Azkaban, or are deceased. It was thought that the Dark Hand was extinct…but recent evidence concludes otherwise."

"Alright, so these loonies are after the scrolls," Ron said, nodding. "Now what the hell do we do about the one that they've already used?"

"The Scroll of Malady is not the worst of the – " Ford began, but was promptly cut off.

"We've tried the Healing Potion developed after the First Great War," Bode spoke up for the first time in the meeting. "But it seems to be ineffective. I've got a few of my people working on it." He left it at that, in classic Unspeakable fashion.

"You've got a _few_ of your people working on it?!" Ron said incredulously. "Muggles could die!"

"Actually, the Scroll of Malady only causes illness," Ford jumped in promptly. "No one will actually die unless the Scroll of Death is used – "

"And that's in safekeeping, along with Discord, Fear, and Hate." Foran finished shortly. "Are all your questions answered, Mr. Weasley?"

As freakishly comforting as the fact that no one could die was, Ron still felt uncertain. "There's something else I don't understand," he said slowly. "Why don't we just burn the bloody scrolls and get it over with?"

"They can't be destroyed," Darnell said darkly. "Figures, eh?"

"So we keep hiding them, but they keep being found," Ron said in confusion. "How - ?"

"We don't know," Bode admitted. "It's powerful dark magic in those pieces of parchment. No one understands how they really work."

"But they're very safe right now, I assure you," Foran added.

"Sure, that's what Dumbledore said too," Ron muttered. Foran glanced up sharply at the mention of Dumbledore, and exchanged looks with Moody.

Ron still looked confused. "If these scrolls have been used before, then why haven't they served their purpose? Shouldn't the Muggles have all…" Ron trailed off. It was too horrible to even think about, much less say.

"Died off by now? Fallen apart?" Moody's laugh was cold, harsh, and grim. He looked to the history specialist. "Ford?"

"It is theorized that the scrolls' true power can only be harnessed if all five of them are used together," Ford explained. "They work together, you see, to destroy Muggles society. Thankfully, throughout history, all five of the scrolls have never been used at the same time. A solution is usually found, such as the 'vaccine', or their effects merely wear off in time."

There was a long silence, punctured by the scratching of Sophia Foran's quill. She finally finished writing and looked up, quill still poised.

"Are you ready then, Mr. Weasley?" Nicholas Foran asked.

Ron's head was spinning. Questions were still forming in his mind. But they'd already wasted enough time. "Yes," Ron finally said, his throat dry.

"Good," Nicholas replied briskly. "Then you're ready to Disapparate now?"

"I don't know…it's been awhile. I can't even feel Harry's pain anymore."

"Just don't think about it too much," Moody said, looking up at Ron and finally stopping his frantic pacing. "It's like second nature. It'll come to you."

Ron stood, and the rest of the room watched him expectantly. He felt his face flush. "Could I perhaps do this _without_ an audience?" he demanded.

"Of course, lad," Mad-Eye said, his tone devoid of its usual gruffness. "Out in the hall then, there's no one there. I'll go with you."

Feeling many pairs of eyes on him again, Ron followed Moody out of the crowded office, feverish with worry and anxiety once more. The Ministry had just confirmed his worst fears. Harry was missing. Hermione and other Muggle-borns were in danger of becoming sick. And there were four scrolls lying around, supposedly in safe-keeping, with a habit of being found by anti-Muggle fanatics.

"Are you ready, Weasley?" Moody's voice broke through Ron's thoughts. They were in a cool hallway some distance away from Foran's office. The torches there had been extinguished, and it was dark and silent.

"No," Ron answered honestly.

"Good," said Moody, clapping him on the back. "You were one of our best, Weasley. I know you'll be fine. Now bring Potter back."

Ron nodded, taking a step backward from the old Auror. Brought out of retirement by the war against Voldemort, Moody hadn't had the heart to leave again. As Ron poured all of his willpower into concentrating on his former partner, heart thudding in his chest, he couldn't fathom why.

Feeling the mark on his wrist begin to burn, Ron Disapparated.

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Phew! I know that was a lot of information to absorb in one chapter. And still more shall be revealed about the scrolls. And yes, for those of you wondering, Hermione's dream at the end of Bury the Hatchet _was_ about the scrolls talked about in this story.

So yep, I hope I made everything in this chapter clear, especially all the crazy new concepts, which I hope weren't too hokey. If everything wasn't clear, please let me know in – that's right, a **review! I sure love **review**s. All of your **review**s. They're so nice, not to mention constructive, those ****reviews. Love those **review**s. **Review, review, review**. Yep…**

*Note: Silver Phoenix cannot be held responsible for subliminal messages in bold text which urge readers to review.*

…^_^


	8. Tales From the Crypt

**Author's Notes: **Wow! The reviews for the last chapter were just…wow. I feel so much better about this fic and its plot now. Everything I think of sounds stupid to me, so that's why I desperately need feedback. It's like "Hey, maybe I'll do my homework," and then I think, "No way, that sounds stupid to me…" Ahem. Anyways, I love you guys.*Sniff*

Okay, first of all, either fanfic.net or Microsoft Word (damn you, Microsoft…first the floppy disk, now this!) are messed up, because, as you've probably noticed, the last few chapters have had gigantic spaces between paragraphs. I dunno how to fix it, so please bear the mother of a space between each paragraph.

Second of all, I apologize for the frequent shifts of POV that are going to be in the chapters to follow. I realized that this story isn't going to work unless I switch POV's a couple of times. So, apologies all around. JKR I ain't.

_Third_ of all (you're probably sick of these notes by now)…exams are over!!! As is the semester from hell! *SP does a little happy dance to the Rocky theme*

Yeah, that's right, Rocky theme. Dun. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun. Dun dun DAAAA!

…Enjoy the chapter. ^_^

***

Footsteps echoed through the empty hallways as a handsome man, well-groomed and well-dressed, walked through them. The house was relatively dark, though _house was perhaps not the best word to describe it - a mansion, perhaps, by most people's standards. Beautiful portraits hung on the panelled walls, and an expensive collection of art lined the corridors - an elegant sculpture here, a woven tapestry there._

Dameon Stark knew that his grandfather had been quite the art buff, preferring to spend his evenings in the parlour, swirling a glass of brandy around and speaking of the things that interested him – art, history, and politics. Dameon's family had always had many of the finer things in life, but it hadn't been enough. His grandfather had always been nagged by the sense that they had been robbed of a privilege; the privilege to walk in public, wearing their elegant robes, or the privilege to showcase their mansion and all their fine things to the poorer folks who lived in the village. Instead they had to skulk around like common thieves, and charm their house so that it was hidden from Muggle eyes.

It wasn't fair, his grandfather had always said bitterly, that they had to hide from the Mudbloods. Wizards were the superior race, so why was it that they were in hiding? If anything, the Muggles should have been hiding from _them_, cowering away from their power, from their magic. This sense of injustice had nagged his grandfather a little bit more every day, finally driving him to put to use his vast knowledge of history. His grandfather discovered a secret that no one was supposed to know about; or rather, five secrets. They'd been all but erased from the history books, since those in charge did not want their power to be discovered, or worse, unleashed again. But his grandfather had been a stubborn man. What began as an interest became an obsession. What was an obsession suddenly became action. His grandfather had never dreamed that he would re-awaken an ancient organization…that those instruments of power would just fall into his hands like they had…

But then, Dameon mused as he turned a corner, perhaps the scrolls had _wanted to be found. Of course, Dameon had not even been born yet. He had learned all these things later, from his father. Braeden Stark had preferred wine to brandy, and had often paced the parlour, cursing those who had thrown Dameon's grandfather into Azkaban - the same people who had sent the scrolls to different corners of the earth again, so that they would not be found. His father had tried, of course, to resurrect the Dark Hand, but had failed. His grandfather had always been the one with the power to influence people, to win them over._

After his father's death, Dameon had made a vow to succeed where his father had failed, to finish his grandfather's work, and reap the benefits that came with it – power, wealth, and the satisfaction of finally seeing the Mudbloods grovelling at their feet. But it had seemed that the gift to influence others had been lost to Dameon as well. He had been a powerless nobody, young and uninformed. Until…

Dameon stopped in front of a heavy door, which was slightly open. Inside, he could just get a glimpse of a comfortable room, the shadows of flames flickering and dancing on the wall. He pushed open the door and stood there, focusing on the fire. Though he was forever grateful and indebted to the man sitting in the chair before the hearth, he didn't like to look at him; it reminded him of what he would become. Besides, it was too queer; the idea of who that man _was still baffled him. Still, he had taught Dameon everything. He had made him a someone, and he was going to make him Minister for Magic._

Dameon cleared his throat, and he saw the figure by the fire straighten. "Well?" the man in the chair asked in a deep voice, unable to keep a hint of expectancy and, perhaps, excitement out of his voice.

Dameon leaned against the panelled wall. He'd become confident and smug; after all, thousands of people _did_ hang on his every word now. "The Muggle papers," Dameon replied, holding up the strange newspaper in his hand. "They think it's a mutated form of influenza. _Nothing can seem to cure it," he smirked._

The man in the chair laughed. "Pity," he sneered.

"How much longer must we wait? The Mudbloods are weakening…and the elections are so close…"

"Patience," the figure by the fire reminded him. "If you play your cards right, we'll soon have the Muggle world in chaos – "

" – and the British wizarding world in my – our – control," Dameon finished, his eyes flickering greedily. He paused, hesitant. "But…father always said that one scroll alone was useless. We still need the other four…"

"We know where they are, and they aren't going anywhere. I told you, the perfect opportunity will come up shortly. I can't believe I missed it before…"

"Of course…of course." Smirking again, Dameon crumpled up the Muggle newspaper and threw it into the fire. The laughter of both men echoed throughout the large house.

***

The first thing Ron noticed was the feel of the air. It was somehow familiar – hot and stifling, it smelled of rot, decay, and ancientness. Ron quickly gathered his wits and flattened himself against a rough wall, trying to disappear into the shadows. He silently drew his wand, and then permitted himself to breathe, though it was nearly impossible to fill his lungs with the heavy air.

Ron allowed himself to take in his surroundings, and at first glance, his heart sunk. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see – a tell-tale mess of black hair, perhaps – but it certainly didn't look like Egypt. Egypt had been scorching hot and bright, with miles of coarse, white sand and intense blue sky. Ron was fairly sure he was underground somewhere – cracked, dull gold walls surrounded him, and damp earth was beneath him. The entire place reeked of the past, and secrets long forgotten. The corners were completely covered in cobwebs, and beetles scurried underfoot. There was practically no light, except for the dim glow of crude torches, placed arbitrarily along the walls.

Ron began to panic; he'd obviously got it wrong. He'd trusted his gut to bring him to Harry, and he'd ended up in some cave that time forgot. Shuddering as he lifted his hand away from the wall, only to find it covered in cobwebs, Ron shook his head and strengthened his resolve. He was a Weasley, and he'd be damned if he had to go back to the Ministry and admit defeat. Clinging to a small shred of hope, Ron raised his wand.

"_Lumos_," he said in the barest of whispers. Light immediately burst from his wand, spilling onto the wall opposite him. Ron's heart leapt at what he saw.

Hieroglyphs.

He was in Egypt after all, possibly in some sort of pyramid or other ancient ruin. That was where he knew that smell from – the pyramids he'd visited with Bill and his family on holiday when he was a kid. Kicking at a spider scuffling up his shoe, Ron wryly remembered the twins horrifying Ginny with tales of deformed Muggle skeleton parts, and chasing him with large, Egyptian spider they'd collected in a jar.

"_Nox_," Ron whispered, wishing to keep his presence unknown. The existence of the few blazing torches suggested that he wasn't alone. As he tried to decide which direction would possibly take him to Harry, Ron abruptly froze. He could hear deep voices down the passageway. He began inching down the wall away from them, keeping in the shadows.

" – waste of time, if you ask me," a British voice said testily. "The word is that someone's already found it. The bloody scroll probably isn't even here."

A sound of indifference from the man's companion. "Ah, well. I'm sure that thing would've fetched a pretty price, but have you seen some of the other stuff down here?" He whistled. "The guy that was buried here could've rivalled You-Know-Who with all this dark junk."

"Aye, and some of the curses we had to break just to get in…advanced dark stuff," Ron distinctly heard the first man yawn. "Still, I don't see why we have to patrol around like this."

"Well, you know, I think Arch is on the alert after we caught that one guy snooping around…"

Ron's eyes widened and he felt both relieved and apprehensive. They had to be talking about Harry, but the situation did not sound good. Ron jerked back to reality, realizing his own situation did not look so great either. The two men were fast approaching, and he was running out of wall. 

"Speaking of which, what did Arch decide to do with him?"

Ron quickly ran through his options in his mind, thinking fast. There was no escape from where he was now…he _could_ always chance Apparating away from the two men, though he didn't know where he would go…

" – said he wasn't anything to be worried about, but…" the second man dropped his voice, and both their footsteps stopped."You know what I think, Vern?"

"What's that?"

"I swear – and don't you laugh – that that bloke is Harry Potter."

Vern, a heavyset man in his thirties or forties, did laugh, and Ron clenched his fist, thankful that they were still referring to Harry in the present tense.

"Harry Potter, my arse! You've been down here way too long, Lyle…your imagination's running away with you."

"Sure it is, when I saw the scar myself, plain as day on his forehead!"

Vern laughed again and started walking once more. "Oh, I have to see this…where is he, then?"

"In the burial chamber…Arch thought it would teach the lad a lesson if he had to stay in there, at least until we figure out what to do with him. Unlucky bloke…it's right creepy in there."

"And he's Cuffed?"

"'Course, can't have him Apparating out, can we?"

"Alright, let's go see then…Harry Potter, honestly…" The men were now dangerously close, and Ron had hit a dead end. Concealed as he was by the shadows, Ron was fairly sure that Vern and Lyle wouldn't be fooled if he just stood very, very still and pretended to be a statue. He made up his mind to attack them when they got close enough, and hope that the element of surprise would give him the upper hand. But Ron never got the chance, because the next moment a cool hand had clamped over his mouth unexpectedly, and had yanked him backwards into an opening in the wall he hadn't seen.

To Ron's surprise, his attacker quickly released him. He heard Vern and Lyle stop in front of the barely visible opening, then, seeing nothing, head back to where they'd come from. Heart hammering against his ribs, Ron whirled around, wand drawn, to meet his attacker.

At first he didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him, and nearly blasted her to smithereens. But the next second it clicked, and Ron lowered his wand, staring. Her long, black hair had all been chopped off; instead, her hair was now short, cut in chunky, black layers. She looked surprisingly small without her billowing Hogwarts robes. She still wore all black – pants and a fitted tank top – and nearly blended into the darkness behind her. As she stepped forward into the light of the single torch in the chamber, Ron could see that she had lost her pale, Hogwarts pallor. But unlike Ron's fair skin, which turned an angry, sunburnt red in the summers, hers was slightly tanned after her month in Egypt, and had a healthy glow in the light of the flame. Ron quickly snapped out of it, realizing he must have been staring.

"Weasley?" Diana Drago said in mild surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving you and Harry's arses," Ron retorted in a hushed voice. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Vern and Lyle were really gone, then turned back to the former Potions Mistress, still surprised he hadn't recognized her. She looked healthier, more fit – but that was what happened after months of excruciating Auror physical training with Mad-Eye Moody.

Diana scoffed, arms folded. "We're fine," she said shortly.

"Yeah, like hell you are. You haven't sent word to the Ministry in a fortnight – "

"We were busy," Diana said with a slight shrug.

" – and Harry is currently serving time in King Tut's tomb."

"Arechemon."

"Bless you."

"No, Arechemon," Diana explained, rolling her eyes. "That's whose crypt we're in. Dark wizard who lived around 1300 B.C. Rumour had it that at some point someone hid one of the Scrolls in his tomb. These idiots are incredibly stupid, not to mention uninformed, and they think it's still here."

"Guess the Dark Hand beat them to it," Ron said bitterly.

"No shi – "

Both of them froze, hearing footsteps fast approaching, Ron silently cursed; they'd been talking way too loudly, and had probably attracted unwanted company. He and Diana both drew their wands, and Ron quietly extinguished the sole torch in the chamber with a whispered spell. He pressed himself up against the wall on his right, and motioned for Diana to do the same.

"I swear, I heard voices!" It was Lyle again, but from the amount of noise out in the passageway, it sounded as if he had brought back many more people than just Vern.

"Just like you saw Harry Potter – "

"Shut up, Vern."

"Where did Lyle see Harry Potter?"

"Quiet, all of you! What's this over here…?"

Ron tried not to breathe, but as it always is when one is trying very hard not to do something, it became infinitely more difficult. He physically forced his heart to slow, and took silent, shallow breaths.

"Probably just another empty chamber to confuse people." Ron could see Lyle peering into the darkened chamber. Ron slowly raised his wand, despite the fact that Diana was violently shaking her head no beside him. Ron ignored her.

"What the – " Ron leapt out of the shadows, startling Lyle. Lyle's companions swore, and the reedy man quickly fumbled for his wand. Ron instantly reacted, kicking Lyle's wand out of his hand, and then Stunning him with his own wand. Lyle was thrown backwards by the impact of Ron's spell, into the men clustered around the entrance. There was a definite crack as an unconscious Lyle flew into his companions, who stumbled backwards, bewildered.

Not thinking about the fact that there was one of him and about four of them, Ron used the distraction to leap over the Lyle's unconscious body, now lying on the ground, and into the passageway. Breathing hard, eyes blazing, and with a slight grin, Ron held his wand ready.

The former Auror immediately ducked as a Disarming spell was sent his way, and then jumped back up and aimed another Stunning spell at the man on his right. He whirled and Disarmed the two on his left, then spun once more, just in time for a blue flash of light to blind him. Ron was thrown backwards into the wall behind him by the blue energy, and his head exploded with pain as it hit the hard wall. His vision swimming, Ron could barely make out the two men he'd disarmed picking up their wands, while Vern advanced towards him, stepping over Lyle and the other man Ron had Stunned. Vern had just raised his wand when he was suddenly thrown off his feet, slipping backwards and falling to the ground. Diana had entered the fray. Vern scrambled upwards, his face shiny with sweat, and Ron managed to clear his head and get over to Diana. The two Aurors stood back-to-back as the three men that were left circled around them slowly, waiting to see who would make the first move.

It happened to be Ron. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Ron raised his wand again just as Vern did.

"_Kinetica__!"_

"_Ralsmardes__!"_

Their spells collided and ricocheted off each other, lighting up the dim passageway with brilliant flashes of green and blue. Diana started swapping curses with the other two men, who seemed to have come to their senses and had created blocking charms to rebound her spells. Amidst all the yelling, Ron heard Diana's voice rise up over the other deep, male voices, and then distinctly heard a shield shatter. One of the men Diana had been facing fell to the ground with a thump.

"_Expelliarmus__!" Vern and their other remaining opponent immediately shouted at the same time. Both of the Aurors' wands sailed into the air. Ron whirled and deftly caught Diana's, then tossed it back to her, but his wand wasn't so lucky. It clattered to the ground a fair few feet down the passageway._

Ron swore and turned to face Vern with only his fists as a weapon. He dodged a spell then swung his fist into his attacker's stomach with all his might. Vern clutched his gut and dropped his wand, looking winded. Slowly raising his head and now looking furious, Vern hurled himself at Ron, fists flying. Ron managed to duck his enemy's first swing and block another before he got in a punch of his own. Surprisingly, Ron's fist connected with Vern's nose with a satisfying crunch. The beefy man stumbled a few feet backward, and Ron rushed forward, managing to knock Vern out with another well-placed hit to the head.

Ron turned back to Diana, his knuckles considerably redder than they were before, only to see her successfully Stun their final opponent. The last man fell to the ground, and an eerie silence prevailed.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, gazing at the unconscious bodies strewn around them. "Nice work," he commented coolly to Diana. He took a step backward and felt something snap beneath his shoe. Ron moaned as he glanced down and saw it was his wand.

"You're rusty," Diana returned flatly, gingerly stepping over Vern's body. She started to purposefully walk away. Ron stared after her, shaking his head in disbelief, and then sadly picked up his broken wand.

"Not again," he muttered, gazing mournfully at the two halves. He pocketed what was left of his wand and hurried after Diana, resisting the urge to wring her little neck.

"Wait up," Ron called after her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"For a stroll," Diana replied sarcastically, allowing him to catch up to her. "I'm going to find Potter, you idiot."

"Do you know where you're going?"

Diana stopped, folding her arms. "No," she finally said after a long pause. Ron briefly smirked.

"They're keeping him in the burial chamber," he explained quietly, not eager to attract more of Vern and Lyle's friends. "Do you know where that is?"

Diana wrinkled her forehead. "I might. Potter and I studied maps of this site before he came to check it out."

"So why did Harry come alone?" Ron asked accusingly.

"Because I was in Cairo, monitoring this group's activities there," Diana replied, looking irritated, "and Potter didn't want to wait for me."

"Figures," Ron muttered to himself. Harry was too impatient when it came to this sort of thing, and if he couldn't get help right away, would rush into it alone. It wasn't that Harry didn't _want_ help; he just didn't like to burden others. Everything was somehow his fault, and he always felt the need to rectify it himself.

Meanwhile, Diana had briefly closed her eyes, thinking hard. "The burial chamber was north-east," Diana decided, her eyes flying open. She performed the Four-Point spell; both of them watched the wand spin rapidly then abruptly stop, pointing straight ahead. Ron immediately started heading right.

"Wait," Diana hissed, grabbing his cloaks. "God, you're just like him, rushing into everything. Listen, this place is crawling with people – they've all been on the alert since Potter was caught."

The more Ron thought about it, the stranger it seemed; Harry rarely got caught. But Diana had drawn her wand and was muttering an incantation.

"What're you – woah." Ron lifted his hand to his face, only to discover that he had no hand. Diana, too, had disappeared completely.

"Invisibility charm," her disembodied voice explained, not without a trace of smugness. "Follow me." Ron heard footsteps walking away, and feeling queer, he followed the sound. This was nothing like the Invisibility Cloak – that had felt safe, and Harry, or Hermione, or both of them had always been there with him. This made him feel detached and unreal. Ron shook his head and tried to concentrate on the sound of Diana's footsteps, watching for any sign of unwanted company.

"Careful," Ron suddenly whispered to where he thought Diana was, remembering both his trip to Egypt and Vern's earlier words. "Places like this are full of curses and dark magic to keep Muggles and thieves out."

"I know that," Diana snapped, but Ron thought he heard her footsteps slow a bit and tread more carefully from then on.

"It's here," Ron suddenly murmured, stopping. He needn't have said anything, because Diana's footsteps had also abruptly ceased. "He's here."

Another few muttered words and Diana had re-appeared in front of him. Ron moved his hands in front of his face, thankful to see that they were still freckled and intact. He checked the passageway for any sign of guards or the sort, and then looked to where Diana was gazing intently.

They had stopped in front of what looked like a solid wall, hieroglyphs and drawings covering every inch of it. But as Ron reached out a hand to tentatively touch the wall, he felt a definite crack in its surface. Feeling excited, Ron took a step backwards and drew his wand from his pocket, forgetting that it was in pieces.

"_Appareci_ – " he began, but Diana snatched the thin piece of wood out of his hands.

"I wouldn't do that," she advised coldly, casting Ron's broken wand aside and drawing her own. "_Alohomora_._"_

The wall remained intact. Ron gave the former Potions Mistress an expectant look.

"_Apparecium__," she tried in a whisper. "_Apriso___! _Verdanore__!_"_

"Oh, hell!" Ron cried out in frustration, kicking the wall. Diana winched visibly; Ron's yell, as well as the sound of his boot connecting with the stone, echoed throughout the silent passageways. However, once the echo had faded, an amazing thing happened – a section of the wall began to slide away, revealing a chamber behind it. Giving Diana a superior look, Ron stepped inside and caught his breath.

He only just had time to notice the thick blanket of cobwebs covering the room, the lone stone table in the centre, and what looked suspiciously like a coffin in one corner before he saw Harry. He was sitting in a corner, as far away from the coffin as possible. Looking dirty, dishevelled, unshaven and weak, the Boy Who Lived wearily raised his head as Diana quickly strode over to him. Behind them, the wall that had hidden the chamber was slowly closing shut.

"Hey," Harry said hoarsely to Diana, struggling to get up. He hadn't yet noticed Ron. "'Bout time," Harry said with a weak grin. Diana bent down to examine the cuffs around his wrists, which were glowing dully in the dark room.

Harry's face turned grim. "You shouldn't have come," he said seriously.

"Oh, alright then," Diana replied cynically, examining the cuffs from another angle. "I'll just leave then."

Harry grinned weakly and then sighed, resting his head on the wall behind him and wincing as he did so. Suddenly Ron staggered, feeling the emotions from his former partner crash over him. Fatigue, hunger, weakness, and an acute sense of failure, of defeat. Shaking his head to clear it, Ron stepped forward, the mark on his wrist throbbing painfully.

"Ron?" Harry croaked, lifting his head and looking shocked. "What…why're you…?"

"I'm here to rescue you," Ron replied importantly, giving Diana a dirty look behind her back.

All three Aurors suddenly froze, glancing towards the closed entrance to the burial chamber. There were voices on the other side of the wall, and footsteps fast approaching. The noise Ron had created by kicking the door had apparently drawn visitors.

"Well done," Harry managed to say sarcastically.

"Well come on, let's Apparate out of here, then," Ron said urgently, crossing over to his partner.

"He can barely stand up, Weasley," Diana snapped. "How would he Apparate? Besides," she added, lifting Harry's cuffed wrists, "he's Cuffed. He can't Apparate with these on." She stood, pointing her wand at the restraints. "_Alohomora__!" she tried. Nothing happened; Diana's wand didn't even spark. She frowned at it._

"Damn!" Ron swore as something clicked. "It's a no-magic zone. Bill told me about these."

Harry looked worried. "Can you two still Apparate out?"

Ron frowned, rubbing his chin. The sounds of muffled footsteps was beginning to get louder. "I think so," he decided, "it's just our wands that are useless. But don't talk like that, mate, we'll get you out of these." He peered closely at Harry's cuffed wrists.

"Get me out into the passageway, then," Harry said quickly, struggling to stand. Diana bent down again to help her partner up. She slung one of Harry's arms around her shoulder and tried to support his weight. Ron had a feeling they'd starved him, perhaps even tortured him. He winced, trying to block out the strong pain radiating off his best friend. Outside, the footsteps and voices were getting ever closer.

"I don't think that's the best of ideas," Diana pointed out.

An idea hit Ron. He stepped closer to the raven-haired Auror, extending his hand towards her hair. Diana instinctively jerked her head backwards, looking at Ron as if he was mad.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, adjusting Harry's weight on her shoulders. Harry, however, was watching Ron intently, and nudged Diana to silence her. She went very stiff as Ron plucked something out of her hair. A short, black lock fell into her face as Ron removed a simple bobby pin that had been keeping it out of her eyes.

Ron stuck the pin into the heavy cuffs and jiggled it around a bit. There were voices at the closed entrance. Harry's eyes were fixed on the heavy stone wall, and he winced as he heard it starting to slowly open again, the heavy stone scraping across the ground. Suddenly, a satisfying click resounded throughout the chamber.

"The twins were good for something!" Ron exclaimed triumphantly as the cuffs fell to the ground with a heavy clunk. All three of them whipped their heads around as group of armed men chose that second to burst into the burial chamber.

The men blinked; where three people had just stood, there was now emptiness and silence.

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Yes! This was the absolute most fun chapter to write! And I was totally singing the Indiana Jones theme in my head when Ron was snooping around the tomb. C'mon, you know you were too.

Sorry for the lack of Hermioneness in this chapter. But, to make up for it, here's a review song. Justin Timberlake is finally good for something.

*Random opera guy starts singing. Oh, Justin Timberlake, you crazy fool.*

You just have to say, what you think.

You already know, I love your re-_views!_

Now it's just your chance,

For you to be, real good to me.

Review because you know I looove it…

Tell me you hate it, tell me you love it, in reviews.

Now you tell me you need me, to write like a banshee, and update soon.

Guys I refuse, you must have me confused, with some other author.

But I'll sure write fast, it'll be a blast, if you all review.

So review me a river!

Review me a riv-er!

Review me a river!

Review me a riv-er, yeah, yeah…


	9. Dismissed

**Author's Notes: **Heh, I just realized how much my title sounds like something I'd hear at lunch at school.

_Random Guy Friend of Mine #1:_ Dude, that chick just broke up with me.

_Random Guy Friend of Mine #2:_ Ohh, _dis__-missed. So, dude, what's up my home dawg?_

_Random Guy Friend of Mine #1:_ You know how it is, G.

_Random Guy Friend of Mine #2:_ Bling bling.

_Silver __Phoenix__: *humming in head to ignore them*  Dun dun, tainted love, oooooh…_

This is a day in my life.

Pleas enjoy the chapter. ^_^

***

Ron rolled over on the uncomfortable, strange bed. Despite the fact that he was exhausted and worn out, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. The bed at the Leaky Cauldron was not only old, but also very lumpy. The room itself smelled of mothballs, and faintly of the liquor that was served downstairs. The sun was just beginning to rise, and though his curtains were shut tightly, Ron was still painfully aware of the pale, Sunday morning light. And he could have sworn that there was a faint squeaking noise coming from the direction of the door.

Ron realized that many of these things were probably just a product of his sleep-deprived imagination. But he was definitely missing something, and he couldn't get to sleep without it. Ron rolled over; he knew what it was. It was Hermione.

Not that he slept in her room every night – she'd have a fit if he tried to pull that – but after seven years of being separated from her, it had always comforted him to know that Hermione was sleeping just around the corner. He couldn't help imagining her reaction when she found out that he was missing from Hogwarts. The look on her face when he'd Obliviated her kept replaying in his head. Over, and over, and over…

"Will you shut up?!" Ron suddenly roared at the door, bolting up in bed. The squeaking abruptly ceased, and Ron wondered if maybe it _had been his imagination the entire time. He flopped back onto his hard pillow, staring at the ceiling._

Harry had insisted on going to see Moody as soon as they'd Apparated out of Egypt and back into the Ministry, but after the strenuous task of Apparating in his condition, Harry had looked even worse for the wear. While Diana had gone to give a brief report to Nicholas Foran, Ron had managed to drag Harry into a fireplace at the Ministry to get him back to his flat in London. Unfortunately, Harry had passed out halfway through the Floo journey and Ron had had to go back through quite a lot of fireplaces to find his unconscious friend. Ron hadn't been in the mood to drag a lot of dead weight back to Harry's flat, so he'd finally given up and had used Harry's wand to call up an emergency mediwizard squad from St. Mungo's. They'd quickly transported Harry to the hospital.

After a few hours of sitting in a stuffy waiting room, Ron had finally been shooed away by a nurse, who had assured him that Harry would be fine with some food and water in his stomach. Ron had drafted a quick letter to the Ministry updating everyone on Harry's condition and whereabouts, and then had dragged himself to the Leaky Cauldron, where he'd rented a room. This had been at nearly seven o'clock in the morning. He'd wanted to return to Hogwarts – badly – but Moody hadn't officially dismissed him yet. He was still an Auror on duty; plus, no matter how much he _wanted_ to return to the castle, Ron's conscience would also keep him in London. The threat of the scrolls had not gone away.

"Stark," Ron said aloud to his ceiling. "If you're responsible for all this, I'm going to – " It took nearly five minutes for Ron to use up all of his colourful vocabulary. Feeling much better, Ron rolled onto his side and fell into an uneasy – but thankfully dreamless – sleep.

***

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley!" Eddie Collins exclaimed energetically as Ron passed him in the busy hallways of the Ministry of Magic Tuesday morning. Ron stuffed a rather large piece of toast into his mouth and muttered a muffled reply, waving. He hurried through the corridors, which, unlike two nights before, were now practically bursting with noise as people hurried to and fro. Some were very important-looking, wearing elegant, expensive robes, while others looked hasty and frazzled, folders of papers tucked under their arms. Ron ducked into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and bumped into something quite solid. He choked on his toast.

"Alright there?" the person he'd bumped into asked brightly. Ron bent over, choking violently. The man swung back his palm and gave Ron a hearty slap on the back.

"Out with the old, in with the new!" he said cheerfully, thwacking Ron with all his might. Ron would have groaned if he wasn't choking; he recognized that voice. Finally, the piece of bread rose into his throat, and Ron spat it into a nearby plant, which did not look pleased. The plant snarled at him and went back to patting down the soil in it's pot.

"Landers," Ron gasped, rubbing his throat, "I hate you."

"Ron!" the tanned young man exclaimed in delight. "You're back! S'about time too, you owe me money…"

"I don't owe you anything, you blithering idiot," Ron muttered, straightening and having a look at the young man. He'd been an Auror-in-training when Ron had left, and the older Auror had very much doubted that Joel Landers would make it past training. Joel was far more interested in Quidditch betting pools and pretty girls than becoming an Auror, and had never really taken anything seriously. He rarely listened, had a problem with authority, joked around at times when even Ron had been serious, and did stupid, reckless things. Yet there was the mark on Joel's wrist, clear as day. Ron felt a great swell of pity for the poor fool who had become Joel's partner.

Joel sniffed audibly. "Oh, you always knew how to make a man feel special, Ron!" he said in a high-pitched voice, batting his eyelashes. He grinned and dropped the routine. "So I hear you went to get Harry and Di back! Rumour has it you're staying for good again," Joel smiled widely. "Well? Are you?"

"'Fraid not," Ron shrugged, and the Joel looked somewhat disappointed. The young Auror had idolized Harry, but Ron had assumed that he was just another person to joke around with occasionally to Joel. He felt somewhat proud seeing Joel's disappointment.

"Oh, well…you're going to the meeting then, aren't you?" Joel asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of Nicholas Foran's office.

Ron had spent much of Sunday at the Leaky Cauldron, doing nothing and feeling incredibly stupid. He had considered sending an owl to Hermione despite the rules, and had drafted quite a few letters before he had scrapped the entire idea, imagining a smoking red envelope being brought back to him in return. After another night of little to no sleep, Ron had been woken up Monday morning by a Ministry owl clawing at his red hair, carrying a letter of summons to another meeting at the Ministry the next day.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Ron replied unenthusiastically. Joel opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted as an explosion of shouting voices filled the hallways. The two of them exchanged looks and then hurried down the hall.

"St. Mungo's? St. _Mungo's_?!_"_

"For Merlin's sake, Black, calm down – "

"Calm down?!" Sirius Black hollered. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, his face red from bellowing at Mad-Eye Moody and Nicholas Foran. Diana Drago and a few other Aurors watched in the background. There was a vaguely amused expression on Diana's face.

"First, my godson goes missing!" Sirius roared. "And you don't tell me about it! Then, I find out he was being held prisoner in some pyramid – "

"Tomb," Diana corrected.

" – then I find out he'd been taken to _St. Mungo's!_"

"Lad looks like he's going to explode," Robbie Murdock commented as Ron and Joel joined the other Aurors. There were very few of them present, and Ron briefly wondered where everyone was.

Joel looked pensive. "Care to make a wager on that?" he asked Robbie slyly.

Robbie stared. "That he'll literally _explode?_" The older Auror rubbed the greying stubble on his chin and shrugged. "Sure, I'll put a couple galleons on that." Joel grinned and eagerly reached for his wallet.

"Hullo, Ron!" Robbie said in his raspy voice as he dug out a few galleons. "Good to see you again."

"Yes, nice to have you back," Jameson Howe said, holding out his hand to shake Ron's. Owen Darnell grinned and slapped Ron on the back. Ian Dion simply nodded at him. He was a man of few words.

"Diana tells us you did quite a number on those fellows in Egypt," Jameson complimented Ron, who raised his eyebrows at the dark-haired, female Auror.

"_Diana said that, did she?" Ron asked skeptically._

"Mmhmm. I believe her exact words were, 'Yeah, Weasley helped'." The corners of Robbie's eyes crinkled as he grinned at Diana. She continued watching Sirius and Foran, but caught Robbie's eye and actually grinned wryly back. Surprisingly, the others seemed to get along with the cynical female in their midst.

"Shh!" Joel hissed as Sirius took a step towards Nicholas. Joel was obviously waiting for Sirius to explode.

"Now see here, Black," Foran snapped loudly, and it was quite clear by his commanding tone why he was department head. "It was strictly on a need-to-know basis."

"And _I didn't need to know?!" Sirius exclaimed. He shifted his weight from his bad leg, which had been injured terribly a few years back during an excursion as Padfoot, and glared. "Harry is – "_

"Fine," a quiet voice muttered. Everyone whirled around to see Harry Potter standing in the corridor. Ron noted that he looked much better than he had last night, though his face had a yellowish tinge to it and his robes hung a bit loosely on him. Sirius stared, his mouth opening and closing.

"Wow," Joel whispered, "this is better than the theatre."

"I'm fine," Harry said quietly again, obviously embarrassed at all the commotion caused over him. Sirius took a few abrupt steps forward, as if to hug his godson, and then stopped in his tracks as he realized that they had an audience. There was silence.

"Potter," Diana, surprisingly, was the first to break the quiet. "What are you doing here? Get yourself back to St. Mungo's, you idiot."

Harry ignored her and nodded towards the door. "Can we get this thing started? I think Ron wants to get back to Hogwarts." He gave his best friend a weak grin. Ron opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't going anywhere until that scroll had been found, but was interrupted.

"Yes, let's," a clear voice said. Sophia Foran had just arrived on the scene, clipboard in hand. Ron saw Joel and a few of the others scowl at her arrival. Nicholas and Moody nodded and headed into the office. The Aurors that were present followed.

"Can't stand that twit," Joel said in disgust, nodding at Sophia's back. "Snobby, stuck up, little brat." Ron thought it was quite rich of Joel to call Sophia a little brat; he couldn't have been much older than her. "Thinks she's Minister for Magic, just because Daddy's head of department. Twit."

"She's right there, you know," Ron pointed out, concealing amusement from his voice as they entered the office and took their seats around the square table.

"I don't care," Joel said fervently. "We all hate her and she knows it." He suddenly turned his attention to Diana, who had just reluctantly sat down in the empty seat next to him. Joel immediately turned on the charm.

"Hey, Di, good to have you back," he said smoothly. Joel extended a hand towards her slightly tanned face. "You're looking good. I like the tanned look, it really – "

"Don't touch me," Diana said flatly. Joel pulled his hand away and gave Ron a smug grin.

"She wants me," Joel whispered to Ron, grinning. Diana, who had obviously heard, rolled her eyes.

"Roll call!" Sophia Foran announced, quill poised.

"Joel Landers; Auror," Joel immediately said, in a much too co-operative tone. "And I'd like to file a complaint while we're at it…Harry has a title, so why can't the rest of us? He can be the Boy Who Lived, and Owen can be the Man Who Wouldn't Take a Partner – "

"Damn straight," Darnell said with a grin.

" – and I'll be the Guy Who's Amazingly Good-Looking," Joel finished brightly. The young Auror looked to Moody. "We can call _you_ Peg-Leg," he said fondly.

Everyone except Nicholas, Sophia, and Moody himself snickered.

"Mr. Landers, if you can't act mature for more than a minute, then I suggest you leave," Sophia said icily, but Ron could have sworn she looked a little hurt. "Anyway…I suppose we can skip the roll call; it doesn't matter, I've already written down everyone present, except…" she trailed off and looked to Sirius nervously.

"Sirius Black; Pissed Off," Sirius said wryly, glaring at Moody. Harry snorted. Sophia turned red.

Sirius had worked closely – in secret, of course – with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix after Voldemort's return. Even Moody and Snape had accepted the fact that they needed the Azkaban escapee's help, and managed to keep his whereabouts a secret from the corrupt Ministry. Once the war was over and Voldemort was gone, the former convict's name had been cleared, and for the first time in over a decade, Sirius Black had been a free man. He still worked with the Aurors, but mostly from home; Sirius used his bad leg as an excuse, but Ron had a feeling that he just didn't like coming down to the Ministry. He still received too many suspicious - even fearful - stares there.

Looking at Harry's godfather now, Ron still had a hard time believing that he was the same ghost of a man who had broken Ron's leg in third year. His face was fuller, his hair was shorter, and his robes were much, much cleaner. Though there was some grey beginning to show around his temples, Sirius still looked younger and healthier than Ron had ever seen him.

"To business," Nick Foran said briskly. "Since you're here, Mr. Potter, you may as well explain your findings in Egypt."

"There's nothing much to explain," Harry shrugged. "I knew that the Scroll of Malady wasn't there, but these treasure-hunters were up to their necks in illegal dark activities. I started poking around the site they were looting, and I…" he trailed off, and Ron swore his eyes flickered to Diana. "I got caught," Harry finished simply, shrugging again. "But it wasn't a total waste. I have names for you."

"Excellent," Moody praised. "Let's hear them, then."

"Vern MacLeod, Leland Weisberg, Lyle Cambridge," Harry rattled off, "Elijah something or another - I didn't pick up his last name - and Archibald Worthington. He was the ringleader. There were a few men whose names I didn't find out. But that's not all…Diana?"

"I have a whole list of names that were involved in selling dark devices around Cairo," Diana said, looking bored with the meeting. She was drumming her fingers on the table. "Evidence, too."

"Well done," Foran nodded, and Ron figured that was likely the highest form of praise he'd ever given. Ron glanced at Sirius, who had fallen quiet and was looking sullen. He grinned.

"Now, Mr. Weasley." Ron jumped as he realized he was being addressed. "We thank you for your time and services. We will try not to disturb you again, unless in a similar emergency. You are released from service, and your Auror's privileges are hereby revoked," Foran said.

"Hold on just a minute!" Ron exclaimed. "What about the scrolls? What about the Dark Hand? What about the Muggle-borns, dammit?!"

"Mr. Weasley!" Sophia began, probably to scold Ron about his language. "I'll ask you – "

"That," Foran said rather coldly, cutting off his daughter, "is no longer your concern."

Harry was staring intently at the head of department, while Joel and Jameson exchanged looks.

"Go back to Hogwarts, lad," Moody insisted, his magical eye rolling. "Don't worry, we have this thing covered."

Ron looked furious and helpless all at once. "But – "

"Come on, Ron," Harry said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "I'll show you to a fireplace."

"I'm not bloody going back to Hogwarts if I can help here," Ron said though clenched teeth, staying seated.

"Don't be stubborn, Weasley," Diana said abruptly. "You'll do more good there." At this, Foran gave her a sharp look, which Ron didn't notice.

"Come on, Ron," Harry said again, this time giving him a meaningful look. Ron hesitated, then reluctantly stood and followed Harry out of the office. To Ron's surprise, Diana also stood and walked towards the door.

"Go on without us," Harry told the group. "We'll be right back." With that, he closed the door and started down the hall, Ron and Diana walking on either side of him. Ron gave the dark-haired woman a look.

"And you came because…?" Ron asked irritably.

"Don't flatter yourself," Diana scoffed. "I'd do anything to get the hell out of those meetings. Waste of time."

"So what's the deal, Harry?" Ron said impatiently. "I'm _not going back to Hogwarts until – "_

"Oh yes, you are."

"Why?" Ron challenged stubbornly.

"Because you trust me, and I'm telling you that you should." Harry gave him a firm look as they stopped in front of a door. "Wait here, I think Bates will let you use his fireplace, but he's a bit anti-social, so it's probably best if I just go in."

"I can use the one in the main foyer that we went through last night!" Ron called after him. But Harry had already closed the door behind him. There was silence in the hall. Diana folded her arms and leaned against the wall – she was back in robes, simple black ones that resembled the ones she'd worn at Hogwarts.

"Well," Ron said tersely, partly because he couldn't stand the silence, and partly because curiosity was getting the best of him. "Is it official, then?"

Diana wordlessly pulled up her sleeve, lifting her wrist so that he could see. There were the familiar, joined circles. Diana let her sleeve fall back down. Ron didn't know why, but the idea of her being bonded to Harry bothered him; perhaps because she'd taken _his_ place.

"So?" Ron said.

"So what?" Diana retorted, looking annoyed. Ron guessed she'd gotten around as much sleep as he had in the past few days – a combined total of about five hours. She didn't look like a happy camper. Or maybe she just didn't like him.

"So…how's it going? Ron said lamely. "The whole Auror business, that is."

Diana gave him a skeptical look. "Weasley, if this is you trying to show off your conversational skills, then _bravo_," she said sarcastically, "you've succeeded."

"Hey, I'm just trying to be nice here!" Ron said defensively. "I mean, we had to work together, and you're Harry's partner now, and he seems to like you, so I was just _attempting_ to be – "

Diana looked at him strangely. "Potter what?"

"I don't know, he puts up with you, doesn't he?" Ron replied in exasperation. Diana shrugged and pushed herself off the wall with her elbows. She walked to the other side of the corridor. There was another long silence, in which Diana stared at the door, almost thoughtful, and Ron continuously ran his hand through his fiery hair, staring at the floor.

"He's insane," Diana suddenly said. Ron looked up, surprised. "Potter, that is. He…rushes into things. He doesn't listen. And he always feels like everything is his fault. He always…" Diana trailed off and shrugged again, looking as if she wished she hadn't spoken.

"Has to be the hero?" Ron supplied quietly. Diana looked up, her face impassive, though her dark eyes were surprised. "I know. That's just…what Harry does."

"Well, it's foolish," Diana said shortly. "He…cares about people he doesn't even know more than he cares about himself."

"Yep. That's Harry."

Diana looked as if she wanted to say more, but she folded her arms instead. "So was that our official Potter-partner bonding? Should we make matching bracelets for each other now?" she asked dryly.

"Wow, I'm gone for two seconds, and you're already making matching bracelets for each other," said Harry's voice. Diana and Ron's heads snapped around, both looking startled. Harry had just re-appeared at the door, grinning. "Bates said you can use his fireplace…but, er, you should probably not talk to him, he's having an off-day."

"I'll just stay out here and get lost in the vast corridors of the Ministry of Magic," Diana offered. "Don't find me until the meeting's over."

"Okay," Harry agreed, grinning. Diana returned a wry smile and started down the hallway.

"You'll have to go to Hogsmeade, just to be safe, and then get to Hogwarts from there," Harry said in a hushed voice as he led Ron into the room. Mr. Bates' office was cluttered and messy; Bates himself was nowhere to be seen. "I'm not sure if Dumbledore will have connected up the Floo Network to Hogwarts for you."

"Alright," Ron nodded, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He really did want to go back, even if his guilt and worry made him want to stay and do something for the Ministry. Still, he _did_ trust Harry, and for whatever reason, Harry had told him to go. Reluctantly, Ron picked up a fistful of emerald powder and chucked it in the fire.

"Happy journeys, mate," Harry said with a smile. "And thanks. It's good to know that this," he turned up his wrist; there were two marks there, one a bit more faded than the other, "is still good for something."

"If you people need anything…_anything_, you'd better damn well let me know," Ron said seriously.

"Will do," Harry promised. "Say hello to Hermione for me," he added with a grin. Ron groaned, and Harry laughed. "See you," his former partner said, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Bye, Harry." With that, Ron stepped into the flames. His last thought before the spinning began was that he really should have picked up a new wand while in Diagon Alley. He was probably going to need one to defend himself from the wrath of Hermione.

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Boring chapter, I know. But after that action-packed Indiana Jones one, we needed to take a breather from fighting and whips and theme music and the like, heh. This chapter's theme music was "Bohemian Rhapsody". Why? Because I said so.

Next chapter promises to have some long-awaited Hermione/Ron action, so yay! But I'll only put it up real quick-like if you review. Yes, that's right, the continuous pleads for reviews continue. I feel like such a review whore. v_v

However, I've actually converted a few non-reviewers to reviewers! I hope I have paved the way for review whore everywhere. ^_^


	10. Lies

**Author's Notes:** Wow, Ariana, you are so totally amazing – she made me these collages for Hermione and Diana with pictures from actresses that she thought would look somewhat like them. And she did pretty good, because they're very close to my mental image of those two – these collages rock my socks!

Anywho, if you're interested in taking a look and bowing to the genius that is Ari, they can be viewed at the same website mentioned in the Author's Notes of Chapter 7. For some reason fanfic.net won't accept this document if I have a website written in here. ???

Anyway…Note to all: I do not own these actresses or anything. Because that would just be strange. Now all we have to do is figure out a celebrity or something that would look like older-Ron and older-Harry. Hmm…suggestions?

Also, I have a question for all you computer freaks…every time I convert my chapters in Word to HTML, I lose all my formatting (*'s aren't centered and such), and there's these huge mother spaces in between each paragraph. Help?

And now, without further ado…a chapter that is finally R/H again.

***

A blast of freezing cold December air followed Ron Weasley into Hogwarts. He quickly shut the enormous, oak front door of the castle shut with a loud bang that echoed in the quiet halls. He'd arrived by Floo in frigid Hogsmeade minutes ago, and there was not much one could do in the way of Warming Charms without a wand. The magical carriage he'd taken to Hogwarts had not provided much warmth either, and it had chosen to start snowing quite heavily as the lone, shivering figure that was Professor Weasley had made his way across the grounds and up the stone steps of Hogwarts.

Now that he was finally within the warmth of the castle, however, the snowflakes that had frosted the tips of Ron's flaming red hair were melting rapidly and making both his hair and cloak rather wet. Shaking his head and splattering droplets of water all over the clean floors, Ron headed up the marble staircase, wondering what in the world he was going to tell Hermione, not to mention his students. Professors didn't usually spontaneously go missing for two days, and Lupin's old excuse of being sick wasn't going to fool anyone.

Ron came to the second floor, passing classrooms as he slowly tread towards the staff common room. The halls were quiet, and a few classroom doors that were open revealed students scribbling frantically with their quills, or teachers lecturing and pacing. Other classrooms revealed both teacher and students looking expectant and bored, waiting for the bell to ring and signal the end of the school day. Ron suddenly remembered that it was Tuesday, and that Hermione had the last period of the day off on Tuesdays. His stomach twisted into knots, and he suddenly had a very bad mental vision of her screaming at him in front of the open classrooms.

"Professor!"

Ron snapped out of it, only to see two very familiar fifth-years running towards him, eyes shining. Identical, mischievous grins were beginning to form on both their faces, and Ron decided that he rather hated Roger Ramone and Paul White.

"Is it true, then?" Roger asked excitedly, skidding to a halt in front of him.

"Someone said you'd been called back to the Aurors!"

"And someone else said that You-Know-Who was back – "

" – again– "

" – but Tommy Greenwald was saying that there was this man-eating, giant scorpion that somehow got loose at Gringotts – "

" – again – "

" – and you had to go kick it's – "

"Will the both of you shut up?" Ron interrupted irritably. Both boys closed their mouths and exchanged looks, grinning. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" 

"Yes," said Roger.

"No," said Paul.

"Five points from Gryffindor, and get back to class," Ron said, folding his arms. "Now."

"Aw, you're no fun," Roger complained.

Paul shrugged. "He's probably just tired and cranky from fighting that giant scorpion."

"_Now_," Ron said wryly.

"But where were you, Weas – I mean, Professor?" Paul asked again, not moving.

"I was…" Ron cast around for an excuse, thinking hard, "…sick," he finished, feeling stupid.

Roger and Paul arched their eyebrows and exchanged knowing looks. "Ah," said Roger, trying to look serious.

"Of _course_," added Paul, his eyes twinkling. "Well, we'll see you then, Professor Weasley…off to class we go, and tra la la, and all that jazz."

The two boys turned and walked away in the opposite direction of most of the classrooms, grinning from ear to ear. Ron watched them disappear around a corner then turned around again. He froze.

There was Hermione, standing in the middle of the corridor. Ron's heart sunk at the look on her face. She looked pale and her eyes were bloodshot; and though Ron couldn't stand the fact that it was due to him, he also couldn't help hoping that it was, and that her ashen face wasn't a sign of her getting sick from the scrolls. Feeling murderous towards Dameon Stark again, Ron could only stare at Hermione's dishevelled hair, which obviously hadn't been brushed or cared for in two days.

"I – " he began. But he was cut off, as the next second Hermione had somehow crossed the hall, thrown her arms around his neck, and had started squeezing the life out of him. Shocked, Ron hugged her back.

"Well," Ron breathed in relief, holding her tightly. "This wasn't exactly the greeting I was expecting…but hey, this works better."

Hermione abruptly pulled away, her eyes blazing, and slapped him across the face with strength Ron didn't know she had.

"Me and my big mouth," Ron muttered as he staggered away, rubbing his cheek vigorously. He'd have a nice bruise to show for that. Apparently years of lugging around thirty pound textbooks had given Hermione quite a lot of muscle.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione breathed, her voice shaky. Ron had only seen her this angry on a few select occasions, and he shuddered as he realized his mental picture of the row in the halls was coming true. He glanced around and was thankful to see that most classroom doors in _this_ hallway were closed.

"Hermione, come on, this isn't the time or – "

"_How_ do you think I felt," Hermione continued, ignoring him. Her voice was slowly getting louder, "when I woke up Sunday morning to find you missing?"

"Now, Hermione, see here – "

"And _how_ do you think I felt when you stayed missing, for two – bloody – days," Hermione continued, her voice sounding shrill now. Ron winced; he'd never heard Hermione use the word bloody before. He was in trouble.

"Not an owl, not a letter, not a postcard, _nothing!_ You could've been in danger, or hurt, or _kidnapped_ for all I knew, and you obviously weren't, because here you are all fine and dandy! You had me worried _sick_, Ronald Weasley, worried _sick!_" Hermione was almost screaming now. "I owled your mother, I owled your brothers and sister, I owled _everyone_ to find out where in Merlin's name you could have possibly gone for two days without telling me!" Hermione was trembling as she continued ranting. Ron groaned inwardly at the thought of his mother reading an owl from Hermione asking where he'd disappeared to. He was sure he'd be getting a Howler from Molly Weasley shortly.

"Hermione, if you'd just let me explain – " Ron tried.

"But _no_, that's not the worst of it!" Hermione exploded. "Did you think I was stupid, Ron? That I wouldn't figure it out?!" she screamed. "I _know_ the signs of a Memory Charm, Ron! Feelings of being disoriented and puzzled, a sense of déjà vu…" The tears had started now, and Ron felt his heart twisting with guilt.

"I couldn't believe that _you_ would Obliviate me," Hermione said through the tears, searching his eyes. Ron knew he looked guilty, and from the look on Hermione's face, she could see it too. "But you did, didn't you?" she whispered in defeat. "Oh Ron, how could you?"

Ron could only stare as she turned and sped down the hall away from him. He stayed rooted to the spot, frozen, as the bell rang and the corridor filled with talking, laughing students. They swarmed around the teacher standing in their midst, running outside or to the Great Hall for dinner; Ron just stayed frozen to the spot, not wanting to believe that he had, quite accidentally, inflicted so much pain on Hermione. And though having to disappear for awhile was not his fault, he knew the Memory Charm was. He should have never gone to her room. He had shattered the trust between himself and the person he cared most about. The hallways finally emptied, and Ron was once again left in silence.

***

"Do you want a Butterbeer?" Arden Roberts tried helpfully. "Or…an ale? Mead? Something?"

The wooden table felt cool and smooth under Ron's cheek. He dully looked sideways at Professor Roberts. "No," he answered, turning his head the other way.

"Oh, Arden, leave him alone," Kathleen Willows scolded from her spot on the armchair in front of the fire. The staff common room was relatively empty, but most of those that were there were taking care not to disturb Ron, who had only just now stopped banging his head on the wooden table due to Professor Willows' pleas.

Arden looked doubtfully at Ron, then to Kathleen again. "But whenever my dad comes home and is angry or depressed or ranting about stupid tourists and the like, my mum always slips him an ale and he's right as rain again," Arden explained wisely.

"Sod off, Roberts," Ron growled. He felt badly; the young Muggle Studies professor was only trying to be nice. Ron usually liked Arden Roberts very much – he was a very enthusiastic, eager-to-please sort of guy. But right now Ron felt like stuffing his fist in the kid's annoyingly helpful face. He'd rather be alone in his misery and guilt, and had been too lazy and tired to drag himself up to his bedroom. He considered it now, and lifted his head, only to let it drop back onto the table.

There had only been a few times in Hermione and Ron's long friendship that they had genuinely, honestly, been furious with each other. Sure, there were the petty rows and stupid fights that they frequently had, but most of those were resolved within five minutes or less. The first _real _fight they had ever had was over Scabbers, which was incredibly stupid, as Ron now wished he had strangled that damn rat when he had had the chance. The second time was the Yule Ball incident. The third, and perhaps most horrible fight, had been at the end of their sixth year, just before the summer. And it had been about Harry. Ron closed his eyes as vivid memories rushed back.

Word of Voldemort's latest attack had only just reached Hogwarts, and the upcoming summer was looking dark and bleak. Ron had fervently believed that Harry should not be left to stay with his idiot relatives for another summer, while Hermione thought that staying with the Dursley's was the best thing for him. Both of them had voiced their opinions on the matter, while Harry had remained uncharacteristically quiet about it all. Then it had finally all come to a climax that last night at Hogwarts.

All their things had been packed, and the trio had been sitting in the Gryffindor common room in silence. The common room had been abnormally empty; many students had been pulled out of school as soon as Voldemort's attacks had begun. Few students remained to _go_ home the next day.

And then Ron, in an idiotic turn of events, had had to open his big mouth.

_"For the last time, Ron!"__ Hermione had said shrilly, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her book tightly. "Harry has to go to the Dursley's, don't you understand?"_

_ "No," Ron had snapped. "I don't understand why Harry has to spend the entire summer with those – " he had called the Dursley's something he probably shouldn't have. "He'd be so much better off at my house, with my mum and dad and Charlie, Bill, and Percy there to watch him. What the hell are the Muggles going to do if You-Know-Who comes knocking on their door - throw a saucepan at him?!"_

_ "We've been through this!" Hermione had exclaimed in exasperation. Harry had simply stared out the window, pretending to be deaf as he quietly polished his Firebolt. "Professor Dumbledore made sure that no harm can come to Harry while he's with them. Now I know they're mean, and I know they're horrible to Harry, but at least he's safe with them!"_

_ "Safe with them?!" Ron had exploded. "Do you know what they did to him, Hermione?! They had bars on his bedroom window the summer after first year! They went on vacation and 'forgot' him the summer after fourth year! They threatened to break his leg last summer if he didn't co-operate when they had company over! How is that safe?!"_

_ "You're just being selfish!" Hermione had exclaimed. _

Ron shivered; it had quickly turned into a shouting match, and Harry had begun unconsciously humming to himself to block out the noise. His eerie humming had actually been downright creepy.

_ "I know you want Harry to spend the summer with you Ron, but honestly, can't you see it's dangerous? You would sacrifice Harry's well-being just so that you can have a friend to hang around with all summer?!"_

_ "I care about Harry's goddamn well-being just as much as you do!"_

_ "Well, you have a funny way of showing it!"_

_ "Oh, sorry. I guess I'm just not as fond of Harry as you are!"_

_ "What's that supposed to mean?!"_

_ "You know exactly what that's supposed to mean!"_

_ "No, I don't!"_

_ "Honestly, do I have to spell it out for you?! It's rather obvious, Hermione!"_

_ "What is?!"_

_ "You obviously care about Harry a lot, don't you? You wouldn't have given back a necklace from him, would you?"_

_ "What in the world are you – "_

_ "Guys," Harry had suddenly begged. "Come on, stop it…we're not going to see each other all summer, do you really have to get in a fight right now?"_

_ "Exactly! We're not going to see each other all summer because you're staying with those idiotic relatives of yours!" Ron had said triumphantly. Hermione had opened her mouth to yell at him some more, but Harry had shut him up more effectively with his depressed tone._

_ "Ron, I have to go back," Harry had said dejectedly. "As nice as it would have been to spend the summer at the Burrow…Dumbledore said…"_

_ "But…but…" Ron had faltered. His temper had begun to cool when he had heard Harry's crushed voice. "If he can make a spell to keep you safe at the Dursley's, why can't he cast a spell to make you safe at my house?" Ron had muttered, staring at the floor. "Why can't he make a spell to make you safe anywhere?"_

Ron turned his head on the table so that he faced the fire. As much as he hadn't wanted to admit it, he'd cared a lot about his best friend, and still did. It just didn't seem like the kind of thing one guy said to another guy back then. He'd hated the fact that he wouldn't have any contact with his best mate all summer, and even more so that Harry had to spend it with the Dursley's. He knew first-hand how they treated Harry. Looking back, Hermione _had_ been right – at least Harry was safe with them – but to a young, hot-tempered Ron, it hadn't seemed that way.

_"I told you," Hermione had said softly, also having cooled down a bit. "It's…it's just not possible. The best protection Harry could have had was his mother's sacrifice…and now it's gone. The best he can do is stay at Hogwarts with Dumbledore during the school year, and with his relatives during the summer."_

_ "There's got to be a way!" Ron had exclaimed, exasperated. His temper had begun to flare up again; for Ron, anger always went hand in hand with frustration. "Hermione, you're supposed to be smart. Can't you figure out something?"_

_"Don't you think I've tried, Ron?" Hermione had asked in a strained voice._

_ "Maybe you're not trying hard enough," Ron had snapped bitterly._

_ Hermione had looked offended and angry. "I've looked everywhere…I've read every book in the library! It just can't – be – done!" she'd said through clenched teeth._

_ "Just because you can't do it doesn't mean it can't be done!" Ron had blurted out angrily, leaping out of his seat. "You're a Muggle-born, what would you know anyways?!"_

Ron winced as he remembered those words. He had immediately regretted saying them, of course. Those few words had inflicted more harm than any amount of shouting and yelling ever could have. Hermione had gone rigid. Harry had dropped his broom. The few other Gryffindors in the common room - most of whom had been ignoring the row, as they did many other Ron/Hermione conflicts - had suddenly frozen, staring. Ron could only stand there, not daring to believe what he'd just blurted out.

_ "So," Hermione had said softly. Her voice was trembling, and her hands were shaking with anger. "Is that the way it is, then? All of that about being a brilliant witch…how you always defended me in front of Malfoy…it was all just lies, wasn't it?" She had given a harsh laugh that was quite unlike Hermione and had stood up, still shaking. "It's finally revealed what Ron Weasley really thinks."_

_ "Hermione, he didn't mean it," Harry had said quickly, glancing at a frozen Ron. "He was angry; you were both angry, you two always say things you don't really mean…"_

_ There had been tears in Hermione's eyes which she had bravely fought. She wouldn't have shed them in front of Ron, when her pride had already been so badly injured. "Oh no, Harry…I think Ron has been meaning to say this for a very long time."_

Ron sighed, clenching his fists under the wooden table at the mere memory of it. It hadn't been true. He'd blurted it out without thinking. His anger and frustration and even his jealousy of Hermione's brilliance had all mingled into that one, horrible, untrue statement. But Ron hadn't been able to defend himself, or apologize, or even take it back.

_"I'm just a Mudblood to you too, aren't I?" Hermione had whispered, breaking Ron's heart with the look she had given him._

Ron closed his eyes. And without another word, she had turned and stiffly walked up the stairs without looking back. Harry had looked imploringly at Ron, but it had seemed apparent that his red-headed friend was unresponsive at the moment, so Harry had sighed and called after the bushy-haired girl.

_ "Hermione, wait!" Harry had called, seeking to make things right. He'd always played the peacekeeper. "Hang on…I…I need to talk to you about the Charms exam!" he'd said, hurrying after her._

Ron shook his head. Harry had obviously thought that mentioning an exam would snap Hermione out of it, that somehow she would suddenly forget Ron's comment and start babbling about how she thought she didn't get question thirty-one. But then again, Harry was a bit of an idiot sometimes.

_"Oh, I wouldn't know anything about Charms, Harry," Hermione had said coldly, stopping at the foot of the stairs. The tears were threatening to pour down her face at any moment, and she had clenched her trembling hands into fists by her side. "I'm just a Muggle-born, after all."_

"It's _still_ snowing," Oliver Wood, the flying teacher, commented worriedly from the window. Ron snapped out of the daydream, blinking. Hermione had not spoken to him the next day, and had ignored every single one of his letters over the summer. It had been hell, not being able to be with or talk to either of his best friends for an entire summer. Hermione had only started speaking to him again when they'd returned to school, and he'd had to practically get on his knees and beg her to forgive him. Still, looking back, Ron realized that the lack of contact with Hermione for that one summer was _nothing_ compared to the seven years of silence that had followed graduation.

Ron wished passionately that this fight wouldn't be one of the ones to add to that terrible list. Then again, Hermione had been almost as furious in the halls this afternoon as she had been that last night of sixth year. But it wasn't because he had insulted or offended her like he had then, it was because she cared about him, Ron reminded himself. He was sure Hermione wouldn't be angry with him if she'd only let him explain where he had been…

"How is anyone going to get any Quidditch in?" Oliver muttered, banging on the window. He walked over and poked Rowan Richardson, who was reading a book in the corner. She jumped a bit and stared up at Wood. Though she was only an apprentice, she had been given the staff common room's password. And, unlike Professor Trelawney, the future Divination Professor didn't mind coming out of the tower, although she was still a bit shy about being allowed in the teachers' private common room. She usually kept quiet, and almost everyone was kind to her, even if she still didn't quite fit in.

"Is it going to stop snowing soon?" Wood demanded impatiently.

"I…I don't know," Rowan answered, looking surprised at being asked a question like that.

"Well, you're the Divination expert, aren't you?" Wood said irritably, folding his arms. "Can't you even tell if it's going to stop snowing?"

Rowan looked flustered, and her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Aw, leave her alone Oliver," Professor Roberts spoke up. He'd given up on Ron and was flipping through the Muggle Studies textbook, compiling a note on the human body (according to Muggles) for his next class. "She's not the weather girl."

Rowan blushed furiously at Arden's defence, and Oliver looked confused. "Weather what?"

"Weather girl. On Muggle television," Arden, a Muggle-born, explained enthusiastically. "It's this girl that struts around in a skimpy outfit and shows you what the weather's going to be like for the next few days. She does amazing things like moves little pictures of the sun and clouds around on this big board. It requires quite a lot of talent," he grinned.

Oliver's eyes were shining, and he looked as if he had just been touched by a stroke of ingenious. "Really?" he said slowly. "On Muggle television, you say?"

"Don't bother," Professor Flitwick piped up. "There's a spell you can do that predicts tomorrow's weather." Oliver quickly crossed over to the tiny Charms teacher, and Rowan, forgotten, went back to her book, her cheeks still pink.

Slowly, everyone started to leave the common room to go to bed, until only Arden and Rowan were left. Arden had just started marking papers while Rowan snuck glances at him over the top of her book, when the common room door opened. Ron turned his head sideways, and his heart got lodged in his throat. It was Hermione.

Rowan looked from the Arithmancy Professor to the Defense Against the Dark Arts one, then quietly got out of her chair and started heading upstairs. Professor Roberts seemed to take the hint and followed.

Ron lifted his head to stare at Hermione; rather than furious, she looked almost sheepish. Her face was still tear-streaked, but she looked a lot less pale than she had a few hours ago. In fact, her cheeks looked almost flushed. Wordlessly, she walked over to the table Ron was at and sat opposite to him. She chewed her lip, and Ron stared at the table. Neither of them said anything.

"I've had a talk with Dumbledore," Hermione suddenly said softly. She was trying to avoid Ron's eyes. "He told me…where you had to go."

Ron said nothing, though he felt relief wash over him. Trust Dumbledore to smooth things over for him. He reminded himself to buy the Headmaster something really good for Christmas.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione asked, staring at her hands. "That…you'd agreed to go if they called you?"

"Because…I didn't think you'd be too pleased with me," Ron muttered, feeling his ears go red. "I mean, you weren't exactly thrilled with the whole profession."

Hermione looked flustered. "Well, yes…I mean, no, but…" she started chewing her lip again. "I understand that you weren't allowed to tell anyone that you were leaving," she whispered. "And…and I'm sorry for screaming at you before, but…" She seemed to be trying very hard not to cry again. "Why did you have to Obliviate me?" she whispered.

"It was my fault," Ron blurted out, shaking his head. "I…I couldn't leave without saying goodbye. I didn't know how long I would be gone, and…I couldn't leave without saying goodbye," he muttered, blushing. "I was stupid and I blurted out some things I shouldn't have. I swear Hermione, I just wanted you to be safe. You couldn't have known. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, and Ron thought that she even looked a bit flattered that he hadn't been able to restrain himself from saying goodbye to her. Her cheeks went a bit pinker, anyway. She started absently toying with the chain on her neck; a necklace Ron had really given to her twice – for Christmas in sixth year, and for Christmas last year. She'd finally kept it after last year, and now, to Ron's delight, wore it all the time.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered again, shaking her head. She slowly stood, and Ron did the same, immediately wrapping his arms around her as soon as she'd stepped away from her chair. He cradled her close, breathing in her scent. He'd come to love the familiar way Hermione always smelled; of books and the magical fires that were always blazing in the castle; today there was faint scent of evergreen in her hair from the trees the gamekeeper had put out to decorate the castle for Christmas.

To Ron's surprise, Hermione quite suddenly burst into tears, squeezing his neck tightly. Trying not to choke, Ron rubbed her back, feeling quite confused.

"I – I'm sorry!" Hermione repeated between sobs. "Oh, Ron I – I was never r-really angry with you, I just – " Her sobs increased in volume, and Ron worried that the other teachers would hear.

"You disappeared, and I thought you had gone for good again!" Hermione wailed. "And…and I know it's silly, but I had this horrible feeling that you were going to be gone for another seven years, and I…oh, I was such an idiot when you and Harry left before!"

"Shh," Ron said soothingly. "Shh, Hermione, it's alright…"

Hermione broke away from him, her face shining with tears. "No, it's _not_ alright!" she declared passionately, stomping her foot. Though Hermione was a confident, intelligent, adult woman, she was still so much like a child when she was angry and upset. "I kept trying to tell myself that I didn't care when you were gone back then, but I did…oh, I couldn't stand being without you and Harry for the first few months after graduation…but then I kept distancing myself more and more from all that and convincing myself you two were nothing but trouble, and…" Hermione trailed off, looking embarrassed. "Well, when you disappeared Saturday night, I thought…I thought some higher power was getting back at me for being so petty and mean before," she confessed. "Because _nothing_ ever works out for us, Ron! We've been so happy and it's been so wonderful these past few months, but you know it _never_ works out!"

"Don't talk like that," Ron commanded. "I won't have you just waiting for something horrible to happen to us. Nothing bad is going to happen, do you hear me?"

"Then why did you have to leave?" Hermione asked hopelessly.

Ron opened his mouth, and then closed it again, not knowing what to say. Was he supposed to lie, to say everything was just fine? He snapped back to reality, leaning forward and kissing Hermione's forehead.

"Harry just needed some extra help," he murmured. "That's all." Ron felt horrible for lying; but then again, it wasn't _really_ a lie. It was just…keeping a secret.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked timidly. "That's all? Why can't you tell me what it was all about, then?"

Ron shook his head. "You don't understand how much I want to, Hermione. It's just – "

Hermione sighed heavily. "I understand," she muttered, taking out a handkerchief from within her robes and wiping her eyes. She suddenly laughed. "Well, I look quite foolish now, don't I? Honestly, getting all worked up like that and bawling like a baby…"

"Hey, _you_ said it, not me," Ron joked.

"_Ron!_"

"Joking, joking," Ron said quickly, holding up his hands in defence. He laughed and hugged Hermione again, kissing the top of her dishevelled brown hair. "I love you," he murmured into her hair.

"I love you too," Hermione answered, and tilted her head up to kiss him on the lips. Ron instantly felt calm and warmth wash over him as her lips moved against his. Kissing Hermione must just have had that effect on people. Hermione quickly broke off the kiss, blushing furiously.

"Whatever happened to the hands-off rule?" she questioned sternly, hands on her hips.

"Oh shut up, Hermione." Taking her by surprise, Ron suddenly spun her around and dipped her, kissing her again. Hermione shrieked against his mouth, but eventually gave in. She always did.

Still, something dark nagged at the back of Ron's mind. He abruptly thought of five little pieces of parchment, and no amount of kissing could possibly make him feel warm again.

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Aww…

So believe it or not, I'm not going to beg you to review now! Nope! I mean, if you want to be an incredibly nice and unselfish person and lend me criticism on this chapter, which I worked very hard on, and would be incredibly grateful for a review of, then that's totally up to you. Totally – up – to – you. ^_^ 


	11. Today and Tomorrow

**Author's Notes: And now, a brief interlude featuring Harry and Diana, from…gasp! Diana's point of view. Now, I know with Diana people either love her or they hate her, so those of you who aren't fond of her will just have to bear with me for this chapter. Forgiveness, please.**

The chapter might seem sort of off-topic, but it was fun to write – let's hear it for character development and random backstory, yeah! There _are_ some important, key parts to the plot in this chapter though, so if you were gonna skip it, think again, buddy. I'm watching you. -_-

P.S. Yay for March break! I'm goin' to Florida, so finally I shall be free from -30 degree Celcius weather! Disney World, here I come, baby! 

***

Her feet pounded on the ground, her breathing short and laboured. Perspiration was beginning to form on her brow. Her arms pumped back and forth as she ran, feeling air rush by her, seeing the objects around her pass by in a blur of colour. Exhilarated and exhausted at the same time, Diana Drago cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her pursuer. He was quickly gaining on her. Feeling a fresh surge of adrenaline course through her veins, she pushed forward harder, pain searing through her legs. She was also beginning to feel a cramp in her side. She ignored it and pressed on. Faster and faster, until her head spun and all other noises were completely drowned out by the sound of her heart thudding in her ears.

She had never been very athletic as a child, or even for most of her adult life. Quidditch was fun, but only as a spectator. Muggle sports bored her. But she'd always loved to run; it had been her way of escaping from her father, both literally and figuratively. She would quietly leave the place where they happened to be hiding at the time and run at night, loving the feel of the Muggle roads under her feet, and the sound of wind rushing through her hair. Diana almost reached up to feel her hair now, then remembered it was all gone; short and layered, but still the exact same colour as the jet black robes she'd worn at Hogwarts. She'd never been very vain, so she hadn't really cared when Mad-Eye told her to chop it all off. She wouldn't admit it, but Diana sort of liked it better this way.

She supposed running had become an instinct, a form of survival, especially since her father had been running from the law every two seconds. The number of times he'd roughly awoken her in the middle of the night, forcing her to leave all her things behind, were countless. Then they would have to run, the Aurors always close behind. Diana marvelled at the irony; she had somehow become one of the people she'd always run from.

Diana idly wondered, not for the first time, why her father had bothered to keep bringing her along. She was excess luggage, and only hindered his frequent attempts at escape. She wondered why he'd pulled her out of school in her seventh year, and why he had then dragged her around, forcing her - under the Imperius curse - to watch the unspeakable things that he, Donovan, and Samantha Owens did. She'd always known her father had dabbled in the dark arts, and it didn't take her long to figure out what they were: Death Eaters. Cold-blooded killers. Servants of Voldemort.

She supposed that her father's motives for taking her with them were selfish, as usual; if he had left her behind at Durmstrang, she was a liability. She could have told the Ministry too many of his secrets. She could have been used as a witness at his trial. But then, why hadn't he just killed her? He'd likely killed her mother – she had died, for reasons unknown to Diana, when she was very young – so what difference did it make if he murdered his only daughter?

Yet Alonso had dragged her along, and Diana would never know why. She'd betrayed him in the end and had agreed to testify against him anyway. He was found guilty, not that it had mattered; he and Donovan had escaped. And then Donovan Owens had ended up killing Alonso Drago.

_He deserved it, Diana told herself savagely, then returned her concentration and focus to the task at hand. She breathed deeply and pushed even harder forward, now able to hear the heavy breathing of her pursuer, only a few feet behind her now. She smirked; he was stronger, and most likely _could_ be faster, but he would never catch up. She loved to run._

Finally, she began to slow, crossing the familiar white line on the ground. Her arms and legs now moving of their own will, she tried to stop herself, her heart thudding against her chest. A victorious smile crossed her face as she turned around, panting, to meet her pursuer. Her face, usually an emotionless mask, was flushed, and her dark eyes sparkled with triumph, though she clutched at the stitch in her side. Her follower also slowed, eventually coming to a stop beside her, hands on his knees as his chest heaved up and down, trying to suck up as much oxygen as possible.

With a groan, Harry Potter fell to the ground dramatically, breathing heavily. His forehead was shiny with sweat, and his face was red after the long run. He let his head lull to the side, closing his eyes and not moving.

Her breathing still laboured, Diana grinned wryly and nudged him in the side with her foot. "Still alive?" she asked in cool triumph.

"No," Harry gasped out, though he sat up on the ground and mopped his forehead with his own top – a white T-shirt with faded writing on it, not unlike the ones Muggles wore. Diana caught a brief flash of skin and immediately looked away, folding her arms while Potter composed himself.

"Where in the blazes did you learn to run like that?" Potter asked, managing to get to his feet.

Diana smirked. "At Durmstrang," she answered in a fake, heavily accented voice. "Ve are running in the snow and in the fields, every day, and ve haff to run faster if Karkaroff cracks the whip – "

"Alright, alright," Potter groaned, grinning a bit. "So I'm faster on a broom, and you're faster on the ground. Happy now?" He mopped his forehead with his shirt again, and Diana rolled her eyes, tossing him the towel she'd had waiting for her at the finish line.

"Jealous now?" she retorted with a sneer as the towel hit him in the face.

"Yes," Harry admitted solemnly. "I am infinitely jealous of the talented Miss Drago, with her amazing athletic skills and charming good looks." Harry's ears turned a bit red as he grinned cheekily and mopped his face again.

Diana hastily turned away, her face the emotionless mask once more. She avoided her partner's eyes as she picked up the duffle bag she'd brought along and slung it over her shoulder. When she had first started working as Potter's partner, the other Aurors – most of them being men – had joked with and teased Harry about having a woman for a partner. Diana had acted unimpressed, but Potter had taken it all with good humour. He even threw in a joke of his own about it every now and then.

They were meant to be just that – jokes. The new partners would often trade sarcastic remarks; they both had the same dry sense of humour, which made the nature of their work a lot lighter. But when Potter joked about certain things…Diana would never admit it or show it, but it made her suddenly uncomfortable, especially when she happened to look up or turn around when he wasn't expecting it, and he was staring at her with an intense, unreadable look. It bothered her, for some reason. But she didn't say anything or show that she was uncomfortable. That was her nature – showing emotion meant showing weakness. She supposed her father had something to do with that philosophy, but she didn't care. Bad things always seemed to happen when she let emotion get the best of her.

In the short months she'd been training with them, the rest of the Aurors had come to get to know and respect, even admire, the rare woman in their midst. She was dedicated and intelligent, not to mention capable of brewing potions that most of the others couldn't even dream of attempting. Diana took a sort of pride in this – if there was anything she excelled at, it was Potions, and now they all knew it. The jokes had become less frequent, and she'd eventually been accepted. Everyone had pretty much learned not to mess with the cold woman, with the notable exception of Joel Landers; but he was an idiot. She'd even become somewhat companionable with the rest of them; if companionable was a word that appropriately described Diana Drago.

Diana got along best with her partner; this may or may not have had anything to do with _Vitae Infinitum, the spell that bonded them. Diana had been reluctant to participate in the spell at first, the defence mechanisms she'd built up around herself having kicked into play. But she'd eventually agreed to it. _

The first few months had been hard. Her partner hid some of his innermost feelings almost as well as she did. Harry had a lot of pain and troubles in his dark past, and, to her surprise, Diana was frequently subjected to his feelings of guilt, morose, and even loneliness. When they'd found him in the tomb in Egypt, Diana had been violently sick to her stomach with Harry's strong feelings of pain and fatigue. She must have masked it well though, because Weasley, thankfully, had not noticed.

Eventually she'd learned to block most of Potter's emotions, unless they were particularly strong or alarming, which meant that he was in trouble. It _was a good system, even if the idea of being bonded to Harry was slightly unnerving, for whatever reason. Diana always worried that he could feel her buried emotions just as well as she could sense his._

"Oi, Diana!" His voice broke through her thoughts. Diana immediately felt angry with herself; she'd probably been standing there, in the middle of the Ministry of Magic's gym, looking like an idiot with a dazed expression on her face. Silently scolding herself, Diana adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder and left the gym, casting a glance back at the track which circled the large, glistening room.

Few people knew what went on in the lower levels of the Ministry of Magic building, and even fewer people had the proper clearance to find out. It was there that all the confidential Ministry business transpired – the offices of the Department of Mysteries could be found in the lower levels, as well as the headquarters and facilities of the Aurors. She followed Harry out into the hallway, which was dimly lit compared to the bright gym, and walked in silence beside him, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

Diana sharply glanced over at Potter, wondering - and perhaps maybe a small part of her hoping - that she'd catch him staring at her. But Potter seemed to be interested only in the hallway before them, and Diana cursed herself for being so stupid.

She wasn't sure what it was about Potter, but she found she often let her defences down around him. He was too easy to talk to. It had started back at Hogwarts the year before, when she had still been teaching. Diana had helped Harry and his friends to chase down and kill Donovan Owens, the man that had murdered her father. Diana felt a wave of envy towards Potter, which quickly passed. _She had wanted to be the one to kill Owens, to watch him suffer. Not to avenge her father's death or anything foolish like that, but to get revenge on him for herself. For years of trying to persuade Alonso that they'd be better off without her, for insisting to put her under the Imperius curse, and even, on occasion, the Cruciatus curse. _

Diana's fists clenched; she'd wanted to inflict as much pain upon Donovan as he'd inflicted upon her. But Harry had gotten there first; or rather, Donovan himself had. He'd been stupid enough to try to curse Potter, who still had Severus Snape's sacrifice to protect him. It served Owens right; but still, Diana had wanted to do the deed. She almost sighed out loud, but stifled it quickly, causing Potter to shoot her a curious look as a strange, muffled sound escaped her instead. She shot him a look as if to challenge him to say something in return, and he grinned, swinging his own bag back and forth.

They'd become – what? She wasn't quite sure, because she'd never had a friend before. They had things in common: both of them liked Quidditch, had the same sense of humour, and enjoyed teasing Granger and Weasley. They had both lost their parents - not that Diana had given a damn about her father, but it might have been nice to have a mother – and they had both personally experienced, in their own ways, the pain and suffering Voldemort had caused. When Potter had taken off suddenly at the end of last year, Diana was slightly disappointed, but she'd gotten over it quickly. Then when she had been offered Weasley's place as an Auror, she'd immediately gone. Not because she'd be Potter's partner, she reminded herself, but because she wanted to.

With the placement of that damn spell on both of them, it had become harder and harder for Diana to keep up her indifferent, sarcastic attitude. To her great surprise, she found herself talking to Potter about things that she'd told only one other person – Albus Dumbledore. She spoke about her father and his idiot Death Eater friends, how she'd been dragged around like a suitcase no one wanted, how she'd always loved potions, how sometimes she'd even fantasized about brewing a potion to poison her own father. To her even greater surprise, he hadn't passed judgement, only shared things with her in return in his quiet way – the death of his parents, the often humorous antics of the Muggles he'd been forced to live with, his years at Hogwarts, his friendship with Weasley and Granger, the mind-numbing guilt he'd felt after Voldemort's return and when hearing about every death he caused after that; even the last moment's of Voldemort's life. Once he'd even mentioned a girl that he'd been in love with, or so he thought…Ginny, or something like that.

Diana kept telling herself that these details were personal, that she didn't need to know some of the things he told her. But, just like Albus Dumbledore (who had been like a father to her and had taken her in after the trial against Alonso), Potter had a way of talking so easily, of being so naturally friendly and trusting, that Diana forgot herself and became just as comfortable. She'd always hate herself later for letting her guard down; but then a little voice, which sounded suspiciously like Albus', would ask what exactly she had her guard _up_ for in the first place. And, to be truthful, she didn't know.

"Did we accidentally stray into the morgue or something?" Diana commented, seeking to break the silence and her train of thought. The usually semi-busy hallways were deserted. Diana briefly felt annoyed; a certain scroll that had the potential to destroy Muggle-kind was missing, and everyone had taken the day off. 

"It's Saturday, remember?" Potter replied. "Everyone else that works here have lives, unlike us."

"Unlike _you, you mean."_

Harry immediately bristled and assumed a pose that he evidently thought resembled her – nose stuck up in the air, arms folded, walking in strides that were long and purposeful. Diana pressed her lips together to keep from snickering.

"_Hey, Potter, get your lazy arse out of bed and get down to the gym," Harry mimicked in a high-pitched tone that sounded nothing like Diana's voice. "_We'll see who's faster on the ground_."_

It _was true. Feeling restless and agitated without an assignment (her partner was supposed to be recuperating from his situation in Egypt, though he looked just fine to her), especially during this difficult time, Diana _had_ somehow found herself at Potter's flat that morning. She rolled her eyes at her partner._

"That poor excuse for an imitation of me was the worst I have ever seen."

"You've seen others?" Potter asked innocently.

Diana rolled her eyes and stopped walking, moving to punch her partner in the shoulder, preferably hard. Reflexes automatically kicking in, he caught her wrist and grinned lopsidedly, causing a strange feeling in Diana's stomach. He had stopped walking too, his hand now tightly squeezing her small wrist.

"Let go," Diana said, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"Make me."

"Oh come on Potter, what are you, five years old?" Diana asked. But, in one quick movement, she had dropped her bag and deftly reached for her wand anyway, secretly enjoying these games they played.

But while she may have been faster when running, Potter was definitely faster when it came to reflexes. He had been an Auror for seven years, whereas she had been one for barely seven months. Potter caught her other wrist before she could grab her wand out of the belt slung around her hips, where she always kept it. Diana struggled, but to no avail; her partner also happened to be the stronger of the two. Now he was holding both of her wrists, grinning stupidly, not seeming to realize that they were only inches apart. Not that Diana had noticed.

"Come _on, Potter. Let go," Diana demanded. The game had ceased to be funny a few seconds ago._

"Oh, but what if I were the enemy?" Harry asked in mock seriousness, tightening his grip on her wrists and assuming Mad-Eye Moody mode. "What would you do? Your wand's out of reach, your partner's not around – off, selflessly saving someone, no doubt – and no matter how much you struggle, your attacker's not letting go. What do you do, Agent Drago?"

"I do this," Diana said smugly. She brought back her foot, and kicked him in the knee. Potter yelped and hopped on one foot for a bit, but his grip became tighter, if anything.

"Potter, let go," Diana said edgily, once he'd recovered. She was so close she could feel his breath on her bare neck.

"If you asked a vampire to let go nicely, do you think he would?"

"Let _go," Diana said forcefully. Harry immediately released her wrists, looking sheepish as he realized how close they had been. Diana noted that the tips of his ears had become a bit pink again. Rubbing her wrists, Diana picked up her bag again, briskly starting to walk away. Harry followed, taking long strides to catch up._

"Sorry," he muttered lamely after a moment's silence. He made a few gestures, as if he was going to say something else, then just let his arms drop to his sides uselessly, blushing. Diana didn't respond, just barely shrugged her shoulders and continued rapidly walking, staring straight ahead.

Suddenly, both Aurors froze as they heard a faint, scuffling noise down the corridor.

Diana quietly dropped her bag again, drawing her wand, watching Potter do the same in her peripheral vision.

"_Lumos_," Potter said in the barest of whispers. The dim corridor lit up, the wand from Harry's wand nearly blinding Diana. She caught a glimpse of a shadow quickly move in the bright light, and raised her wand.

"_Stupefy!" both Aurors shouted, as if they had one voice. Flashes of red light erupted from both wands, rebounding off the smooth walls of the corridor, until Harry and Diana heard a cry, then a thud as a body hit the ground. The two partners exchanged looks, and, without speaking, both moved in the direction of the sound – behind a pillar ahead of them. Diana heard Harry mutter something about hoping that they hadn't just Stunned Nicholas Foran._

The two of them reached the pillar and stared, for a moment, at the unconscious man lying there. He was in his thirties or forties, with a mop of pale, blonde hair and, Diana thought personally, a very weak chin. She knew she'd seen him somewhere, but couldn't quite place him…

"Merriton," Harry said sharply, crouching down and resting his hands on his knees. "Tony Merriton, or _Antoine_, or whatever the hell his name is." He shook his head and felt around Tony Merriton's robes for anything suspicious. Harry grabbed Merriton's wand, tossed it behind him, and then shook his head again. "He's got nothing on him. Should we wake him up?"

Realization had just dawned on Diana; Tony Merriton was one of Dameon Stark's cronies, one of the political weasels who made up the ensemble which followed Stark everywhere. Looking at the unconscious man with new disgust, Diana pointed her wand at him and said clearly, "_Ennervate_."

Tony Merriton jerked back to life, looking around wildly. The emotions on his face flickered from surprise, to fear, to anger, and finally, annoyance. He brushed off his deep blue robes, scowling up at the Aurors standing over him.

"Oh, the Aurors, what a pleasant surprise," the haughty Pureblood said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his head where it had hit the cold floor. "Did you Stun me, Drago?" he demanded indignantly.

"That depends," she replied icily. "Did you break into a high-level security area of the Ministry that you're not supposed to have access to?"

"I did not _break in, I was __let in," Merriton said pretentiously. His hand went inside his robes and emerged empty. "Give me my wand at once!" he exclaimed, pushing himself off the floor with his palms and rubbing them together in disgust, as if they were filthy. His demand was directed at Diana, who only had her own wand in her hand._

"If you want your wand, maybe you should be talking to me," Harry said in a harsh, authoritative tone. Diana nearly winced; she had only heard her partner use that tone of voice once or twice, and did not envy whoever was on the receiving end of it. Tony Merriton seemed to go a bit paler; he obviously was not as cocky under the stern glare of the famous Harry Potter. His tone immediately turned oily and business-like, though his sarcasm was thinly veiled.

"I believe this is all a misunderstanding, Agent Potter," Merriton said pleasantly. "I was allowed into this area by the guard outside – Collins, is his name? He seemed quite eager to let me in and have a look around."

Diana heard Harry groan under his breath.

Tony Merriton cleared his throat. "As I was saying…seeing as I should be taking over the Department of Mysteries once Mr. Stark has become Minister – "

Diana laughed a cold, hard laugh. "You wish," she spat. Antoine ignored her.

" – I thought it my _right_ to be able to have a look around down here," Merriton finished haughtily.

"Is that right? Funny that you should choose the weekend, when no one would usually be around, and sneak around like a robber if it's your _right_," Potter said sharply. Antoine Merriton's face fell, and he instantly dropped his oily manner.

"Just give me my wand back. I'm no Death Eater," he snapped, outstretching his hand. Potter's eyes searched the pale man's face appraisingly; he then turned around hesitantly to pick up Merriton's wand.

"Although you may want to check out your girlfriend here," Merriton muttered under his breath. The comment was directed at Harry, but clearly Diana was the only one meant to hear it. 

Diana reacted immediately, her anger and her instincts taking over. When Harry turned around not even a second later, Merriton had been shoved roughly against the wall, Diana clutching a fistful of his robes, her wand pointed at his neck. She dug the sharp end of her wand into his skin; if she had put any more pressure on it, she would have surely drawn blood. Diana took satisfaction in the fact that Merriton no longer looked arrogant and at ease. Instead, his face had gone ashen and beads of perspiration were beginning to appear on his forehead.

"Let me go!" Merriton gasped, struggling. But Diana had an iron grip, and Stark's little friend was going nowhere if she had anything to do with it.

Most people involved in Ministry affairs knew her family history, and what Diana's father had been. Normally, Diana couldn't care less what others thought of her. But if there was one thing that made her blood boil, it was people making the assumption that she was like him, people thinking that she was a Death Eater as well. She could stand anything but being compared to her father. Especially when the comparison came from someone like Dameon Stark or Antoine Merriton.

"Take it back, you insignificant, idiotic little man," Diana hissed severely. The raven-haired witch's eyes flashed dangerously, and she could feel her face grow hot with fury. "Take it back, or I will hex you so badly that your own unfortunate mother won't be able to recognize your slimy face."

Harry remained uncharacteristically quiet at her side. He was usually the one that acted on instinct, the one that let his emotions or his sense of heroicness get the best of him. He made rash decisions, and later they usually paid for it. 

Diana clenched her fist by her side, reminding herself again that this was what happened when she let emotions control her. But the infuriated part of her mind pushed the logic part aside, and she increased the pressure of her thin, pointy wand on Merriton's neck. She saw, with satisfaction, that she had indeed broken the skin as a tiny pinprick of blood appeared. He tried struggling uselessly again.

"Take it _back!" Diana repeated forcefully, raising her voice. It echoed throughout the empty halls, followed by the sounds of Merriton's frantic pants._

"Diana," said Harry quietly.

Diana's dark eyes bore into Merriton's cold blue ones before she released him, shoving him against the wall one more time for good measure. She snatched his wand out of Harry's hand and threw it at his feet. "Get out," she hissed. Merriton didn't waste any time; scooping his wand off the floor and looking humiliated, he turned on his heel and hurried off. Diana considered hexing him while his back was turned, just for good measure, but she knew it would be a waste of her time. After seeing the fear in his eyes and the humiliation on his face, she knew he wouldn't be returning any time soon.

Taking a deep breath and cooling down considerably, she calmly picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and began walking again as if nothing had happened. Harry followed, unspeaking. The silence grated on Diana's nerves, and finally she halted, folding her arms.

"You're angry," she said flatly.

"No, I'm not," Potter replied, not looking her in the eye.

"Yes, you are," Diana retorted, frustrated. "I can feel it through this stupid bond. You're angry because I just about slit the throat of a politician with my wand. Well tough luck, Potter, I don't regret it. He deserved it, the dirty bastard. I just wish it had been Stark instead." Diana said all of this very fast, and felt an immense sense of relief immediately after.

Harry paused, looking thoughtful. "I'm not angry because you did that," he finally said. "I'm angry at what he said. I'm angry at the fact that there's a slightly possibility people that like are going to end up working at the Ministry." He paused again, taking a deep breath, and looked Diana in the eye. "I'm afraid Stark's going to win," he admitted in a low voice.

Diana blinked. "He won't," she said firmly.

"I think he's the one after the scrolls," Harry blurted out. This revelation did not surprise or faze Diana, and she just shrugged.

"He's a politician, Potter; a pig-headed, Pureblood-obsessed, Muggle-hating one, but a politician all the same. I can't see Stark as the leader of some secret group of terrorists out to destroy the Muggle world. He doesn't have the brains for it," she scoffed.

"What if someone else was in charge? And Stark's just the pawn?"

"Chess," Diana smirked. "You sound like Weasley."

"Well, I _have known him since I was eleven."_

Diana tapped her wand, which she still had out, rhythmically against her arm. "So you think that Stark…sorry, some secret head of operations whom we don't know about…has the Scroll of Malady, and he's going to use it to make all the Muggles sick, so that while they're all in bed nursing head colds and fevers Stark can become Minister for Magic?"

"Well, when you say it like _that_…"

"Just telling it like it is, Potter."

"Why else would Merriton be down here, snooping around?"

"Because he's a royal pain in the – "

"No," Harry said patiently. "Maybe he was looking for the other four scrolls."

"What, he thinks we keep them in the gym?"

Potter sighed, and although he now looked weary and anxious, he couldn't suppress a grin at that. "No, I suppose not," he said with what sounded like a forced laugh. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Diana agreed, continuing to walk. They climbed the flight of stone steps and emerged into the sunlight of the Ministry courtyard. Harry berated the young guard for awhile, and after he had nearly reduced him to tears, apologized profusely for being mean. Diana smirked.

"Are you Apparating home, then?" Potter asked casually. The Ministry was also one of the places one could not Apparate into or out of, but one could Apparate freely in the courtyard.

"I think I'll walk," Diana shrugged lightly.

Harry looked at her short-sleeved black shirt dubiously. "You don't have a cloak on."

"I feel like walking."

"It's December."

"So it is."

"Well, then take mine," Harry said with a grunt as he dropped his bag and shrugged off his cloak. Diana began to argue, but Potter waved her off, standing with his heavy, winter cloak in hand. He draped it around her shoulders and suddenly blushed. Diana blinked, but to her own surprise, drew the grey cloak closer around her.

"Thanks," she said shortly.

"Not a problem," Potter said with a smile. It was strange how at one second he could be abrupt and forceful, and the next he was basking her with a smile. Diana was of the opinion that he had handled Merriton well, unlike her. It was true that Potter often rushed into things, and was sometimes headstrong, but her partner really was a great Auror.

Something suddenly occurred to her. "Potter," she said abruptly. "How did you get caught in Egypt?"

Harry blinked and looked taken aback. That obviously hadn't been what he was expecting her to say. "What do you mean?" he asked lightly. "I was just…careless, and I got caught. You're always saying I'm too reckless."

It didn't seem right. Even he would never get caught. "What did they know?" Diana asked, folding her arms under her partner's cloak. Harry began to look a bit nervous, and he wasn't looking her in the eye. Diana fixed him with a steady glare.

"They knew that a stranger was lurking around and spying on them, that's what," Harry replied with a strained laugh. Diana sighed; she wouldn't get it out of him today. But he'd eventually crack.

"See you Monday?" Potter asked, changing the subject and smiling again. "Or…maybe tomorrow? I'm not really doing anything…want to go to the gym again?"

Diana nodded, and he took a step away from her, disappearing with a pop after a final grin and a wave. Diana glanced at the heavy cloak around her shoulders. She could have just conjured or transfigured something to keep her warm.

"Tomorrow," she echoed to herself. The raven-haired Auror spun on her heel and started walking briskly out of the courtyard.

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Reviews.

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Wow, that was also the _longest review song I've ever written. It's amazing what the Thong Song can inspire._


	12. Preoccupied

**Author's Notes:** Apologies all around that this chapter took so long to come out. First there was March Break, and then there was midterms, and Calculus…horrible, horrible Calculus…what in the world _is a limit?! If anyone knows, do please tell me._

***

His green eyes blazing with anger, his footsteps quick, Dameon Stark swiftly strode through the mansion to where he was told Antoine Merriton waited for him. He turned the corner and saw Tony standing there, looking both upset and annoyed. But there was also apprehension in the rich Pureblood's eyes.

Dameon abruptly stopped and said in a harsh voice, "Well."

Merriton flinched; right now Dameon's voice was so unlike the calm, pleasant one he used when addressing his supporters or the Ministry. There was no easy-going, confident smile on his face now, only an angry - even disappointed - grimace. Tony did not meet Dameon's eyes.

"I was becoming impatient, Dameon!" Merriton finally blurted out. "For Merlin's sake, are we expected to just _wait _now? What good is the scroll if we don't have the others?!"

"You've acted foolishly, Tony," Dameon snapped. "Not only was your little expedition fruitless, but now you've aroused suspicion – suspicion from Harry Potter, of all people."

It was quite strange, Dameon reflected, to see the older man – someone who used to be his friend - tremble slightly at his words. He revelled in the power he now possessed over others. Dameon's green eyes bore into Antoine's bowed head.

"What exactly were you thinking?" Dameon continued roughly. "I gave you specific instructions not to draw any attention to yourself. You're supposed to be a spy, yes, but not a blatantly obvious one! And I gave you orders to simply _observe_, not break into forbidden areas of the Ministry of Magic! Can't you do anything right?" When the dark-haired man did not answer, Dameon sighed impatiently.

"Were you seen by anyone else?" he demanded.

"Only the guard. And that Drago woman," Antoine replied contemptuously.

"She is not a concern. And Potter?"

"He…he seemed to suspect something." Tony winced, as if waiting for Dameon to physically strike him. Dameon only scowled.

"We were told to _wait_ before we made any moves," he enforced again. "You could have ruined everything with your foolishness. You had better hope that Potter does not share his suspicions with his friends." Dameon said this last part more to himself than to Merriton.

Antoine seemed to be trying to bite his tongue, but it was in vain. "Wait for _what, exactly?" he cried. "Who is this man to order us around, Dameon? When you resurrected the Dark Hand I followed _you_, not this…stranger! Why should we listen to a man who won't even show the rest of us his face?!" He said all of this very fast, and then took a step backward, as if afraid of Dameon's response._

Dameon laughed – a cold, harsh sound. "Because he is far wiser than you or me," he said softly. "And you'll do well to hold your tongue, _Antoine."_

Merriton cringed. "Dameon, I only meant – "

"Get out," Dameon said in revulsion, enjoying the fearful look that flitted across Antoine's face. "The Dark Hand has no further use for you."

Merriton stumbled as he backed out of the room, his forehead shiny with sweat. Dameon smirked and walked briskly from the room as well.

The figure at the fire was silent as Dameon entered the warm room. "Well?" the man asked presently.

"I told him to get out."

"Good. He could have ruined everything."

"I know."

"You understand why we have to wait, don't you?"

"You said that the perfect opportunity will present itself."

"It will. You trust me, don't you?"

"I trust myself," Dameon said with a wry smile.

The man at the fire laughed. "Today is the twentieth of December, is it not?" he observed casually.

"Yes."

"We're getting close, then. Are you ready, Dameon?"

Dameon Stark smirked, the flames of the fire reflected in his vivid green eyes. "I am."

***

The hospital wing was empty and silent for the first time in weeks.

Professor Weasley leaned against the wall, staring at the empty beds. Almost all of the students had gone home for Christmas, including all the sick kids, whose parents fervently believed that a fortnight of rest at home would make them feel better. How wrong they were.

Ron felt helpless and stupid, not to mention left out. He'd written at least a dozen times to the Ministry for updates in the past few weeks. But they had ignored all of his owls. Even Harry had not responded yet. Ron could only hope that they were making some progress; he could have sworn that Hermione was looking a bit paler than usual. The Vaccinus Potion had worked before; shouldn't something like that work again? Ron balled his fists at his side. He felt useless, just standing there. He could be _doing_ something.

"But what?" he asked out loud. His voice echoed in the empty hospital wing.

"Oh dear, are you talking to yourself again?" a teasing voice asked behind him. Ron spun around, feeling foolish, to see Hermione standing there with a mischievous smile on her face. Ron's eyes swept over her – were those bags under her eyes? Had she lost some weight? Her robes _were hanging a bit loosely on her…_

"What?" Hermione asked. Worried, she raised a hand to her hair. "Oh no, did White turn my hair blue again? Honestly, I am going to _kill_ that boy! Why did he have to stay for the holidays?"

Ron actually laughed and walked over to her. "Nah, it looks normal," he answered, tugging on a curly strand. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. "So…" he tried casually. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione blinked. "How am I feeling?" She looked at him strangely. "Fine, I suppose…why?"

"Just asking - something's going around, you know," Ron's voice was so nonchalant that it sickened him. To his surprise, Hermione's face turned grim.

"Yes, my parents were telling me that there's a horrible flu going around," she said, shaking her curly head. "One of the neighbours' kids got sick, and within a week half the other neighbourhood had it too. It must be very contagious."

"Are your parents all right?" Ron asked in alarm.

"Oh, yes, they're fine. I believe it's the worst with children, because of school and everything, you know - it spreads easily." She suddenly put her hands on her hips, frowning. "And I heard quite a few students here weren't feeling well, either. Which isn't surprising, you know – someone could catch their death in this castle! I mean, it's damp and cold in the winter, and some of those kids are down in those horrid dungeons for hours at a time. It's a wonder they all don't get pneumonias!"

Ron forced his lips into a smile. "Am I sensing the impending formation of a society to promote student health?" he asked teasingly. "SPSH? Aw, wait, that's not as funny as SPEW. Hang on…"

Hermione hit his arm playfully as they began to walk out of the hospital wing. Ron cast one last glance behind him, the feeling of helplessness returning.

"Is something wrong?"

"Huh?" Ron glanced at Hermione, who had a look of worry on her face.

"You just seem…" she searched for a word. "Preoccupied."

"I'm not preoccupied," Ron insisted stubbornly. He inwardly groaned at the lie; he'd fed too many to Hermione in the past few weeks.

"All right," Hermione said doubtfully. "If you say so."

"I do." Ron winced. He'd said that too quickly.

"All right," Hermoine repeated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Shall we go to dinner, then?"

They were approaching the Great Hall, which was decorated splendidly with Christmas trees, wreaths, boughs, and lights. The house tables were empty, as the few students that were left – a handful of Gryffindors, a few Hufflepuffs, and one second-year Ravenclaw -  had forsaken their own tables to sit together at the Hufflepuff table. Someone whistled as the two professors walked by. Rolling his eyes, Ron looked over to see Paul White, who was pointing at something above them, grinning. They both looked up. It was mistletoe.

"Get a life, White," Ron called back as Hermione blushed furiously. Paul grinned wickedly. Ron and Hermione walked up to the staff table, where Dumbledore was looking a bit too innocent. Ron smiled wryly and pointed to the mistletoe.

"I suppose that was your doing?" he asked dryly.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Dumbledore replied mildly, his eyes twinkling.

Ron suddenly groaned as he spotted none other than Trelawney at the staff table, enormous eyes darting around warily. McGonagall was sitting on her left, a long-suffering look on her face.

"Prepare yourself," Ron muttered to Hermione as they approached their seats. She stifled a snort with her hand.

"Hello, hello," Trelawney said in a misty voice, regarding the two professors closely as they sat down a few seats away from the spindly old Divination teacher. Her apprentice was sitting to her right. Rowan stared absently at her empty plate.

"It has been long since we have met, young Weasley," Trelawney said with a sigh. She glared at Hermione, her voice becoming strangely harsh. "And _you."_

"And me," Hermione agreed coldly, taking her seat. "Well, then. May we begin, Headmaster?"

"But of course," Dumbledore answered. Immediately a feast appeared before them, and the teachers and students anxiously dug in. Ron and Hermione would not have the pleasure of enjoying the grand Christmas feast on Christmas day; they had planned to spend Christmas day with Ron's family. Ron remembered how flushed and pleased Hermione had been when his mum had kindly invited her to spend Christmas with the Weasley's, as if she was already a part of the family. It was still a bit strange for everyone else that, after so long, he and Hermione were finally 'together'. Harry had been invited as well, of course – he had always been a seventh son for Arthur and Molly - but had politely declined.

"Well, _I do not t'ink he is so bad," Professor Bouchard was saying. "A bit young, per'aps, but his ideas are good…your Ministry needs __much changing," he pointed out._

After taking a swig of pumpkin juice, Ron slammed down his goblet a little more violently than was necessary as he realized they were talking about Dameon Stark.

"The kind of changing which would totally cut Muggles out of the British wizarding world?" McGonagall argued sharply.

"Ah, but _zat is the argument…do the Muggles __belong in the wizarding world?" Bouchard countered._

"Hmph," was McGonagall's testy reply. She pressed her lips together very tightly and poured herself more pumpkin juice.

"What do you t'ink, Headmaster?" Bouchard asked Dumbeldore lightly.

"I feel politics stifle my creativity," Dumbledore answered.

Bouchard shrugged. "_Si_ tu le dit._" _

"I have foreseen much chaos in your future, young Weasley," Professor Trelawney abruptly announced. "Much chaos."

"Oh for heaven's sake, we're eating," Hermione snapped. "Can't you spare us the doom and gloom for _one_ meal?"

Professor Trelawney opened her mouth to say something back, but Rowan intervened. "Could you pass the potatoes, Professor Roberts?" she interrupted, seeking to restore the peace.

"Arden," he automatically corrected between mouthfuls of peas. He passed the potatoes to a flushed Rowan, who didn't even touch them.

"So, you all ready to take over yet, Row?" Ron asked casually, trying to give Rowan a meaningful look. He'd been meaning to talk to her ever since he'd returned. Ron had not forgotten the look she had given him that fateful day in the hospital wing, as if she had wanted to say something. But he hadn't had a chance to speak to her alone yet. Rowan, however, was staring at Hermione with an odd look on her face. She was slowly fiddling with her necklace, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Earth to Rowan," Ron tried. He waved a hand in front of her face, and she jumped, causing her glasses to slide down her freckled nose. "Sorry," he apologized. "Busy seeing doom and gloom, were you?"

This did not fare well with the copper-haired girl, who abruptly stood up, her face white. "I'm not hungry," she said quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Professor Trelawney."

"Yes, yes," Sybill Trelawney murmured with a sigh, obviously preoccupied with her own thoughts. She slowly raised her eyes to watch her apprentice quickly leave the Great Hall. "Ah, I worry about the future of Divination in this castle," she said with another sigh. "My young apprentice is eager, but I'm afraid she has little talent. What to do, what to do…"

"I think Rowan's pretty talented," Arden Roberts objected as he gulped down some pumpkin juice. "She told me that Manchester would win their next game, and they did!" 

Professor Trelawney looked even more distressed at the news of such happy predictions.

"Manchester?" Oliver Wood frowned.

"Football," Kathleen Willows explained.

Oliver's face darkened. "Ah. _Football._" He looked as if he was disgusted that anyone was interested in a sport other than Quidditch.

"What to do, what to do…" Trelawney repeated.

"Sybill, if you cannot be anything other than depressing, I suggest you leave," McGonagall said sharply. "It's nearly Christmas; no one wants to hear miserable news. The castle could _use some light-hearted predictions."_

Ron saw Hermione grin into her pumpkin juice.

"_Well," Trelawney replied sharply, offended._

Ron silently chewed on a piece of asparagus, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at the doors to the Great Hall. He had a feeling that whatever Rowan was Seeing was not necessarily light-hearted.

***

_The dark days of You-Know-Who were also a time of invention and development. Because of the constant threat of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters, new spells had to be developed to keep families together and safe. One such spell was the Relatia or Check-Up spell, which, when performed, would give the spell-doer the exact location and status of those he/she held dear to him. _

Ron sighed as he read the seventh-year's essay ("Describe some of the spells that were invented to counter the Dark Arts during Voldemort's rein of terror"), taking off a mark every time the student wrote 'You-Know-Who' instead of 'Voldemort'. They would never be able to move on if everyone kept talking about him in fear, as if he were still alive. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure 'spell-doer' was not a word. Ron rubbed his temples and bent his head over the piece of parchment again.

_Since many people went into hiding or were separated from their loved ones because of You-Know-Who, this was useful for people who needed to stay in touch with or check on their families and friends without risking sending an owl._

There was a soft knock at the door to Ron's office. He stood up at his desk, yawning widely, and then started stepping precariously over stacks of paper and textbooks. His office was always a horrible mess, which was why he usually preferred working in the staff common room. But he had promised his class that these essays would be marked by Monday, and, as usual, he'd procrastinated all weekend. Ron nearly tripped over a pile of papers and files and gave up on trying to get to the door. "Come in," he called, stifling another yawn as he plopped back into his chair.

"Professor Weasley?" It was Rowan Richardson, looking shy and timid.

Ron was suddenly wide awake, and beckoned for her to come in. She shut the door behind her and glanced around the messy room.

"Sorry," Ron said, gesturing to the mess. "I'm a bit of a pig. Er…have a seat." He gestured to a pile of books in the corner. Rowan bit her lip and smiled, perching herself on the stack of books.

"So," Ron said, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He had a strange intuition that whatever it is Rowan knew had something to do with the scrolls. "What's on your mind?"

Rowan's smile disappeared and she began toying with her necklace, staring at the floor. She took a deep breath. "I…um, wanted to talk to you, Professor…"

_Well, that's obvious, _thought Ron impatiently. He took a breath and tried to smile. "It's Ron, remember? What is it?" he asked gently.

Rowan squirmed uncomfortably on the stack of textbooks and stood up, starting to slowly pace the room. "Please don't be mad," she begged.

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because…" Rowan stared at the floor. "Because I know you weren't supposed to tell anybody, and I don't want to get you in trouble with the Ministry," she said quickly.

Ron went very stiff. "What?"

Rowan bit her lip again; she looked as if she was going to cry. "I can't help it!" she burst out in a shrill voice that was very different from her usual, quiet tone. "It started last year, and I couldn't help the visions, I couldn't turn them off, and especially because I was in your class – "

"Row!" Ron said in alarm. "Calm down…calm down. Take a deep breath." Rowan stopped her frenzied pacing and took several deep, shaky breaths. Her eyes were wide, her face pale and shiny. Ron wondered if she was Muggle-born, but had a feeling that her appearance wasn't due to illness, but stress.

Rowan closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again, looking slightly calmer. "It started last year," she repeated slowly. "In your class…I'd always had the Sight – my Mum was a Seer too – and I'd been able to predict some things and see in the crystal ball in Divination and everything. But I've never had such vivid visions as I did in your class…"

"Visions of what?" Ron asked, gripping the corners of his desk tightly.

"Professor Granger's boyfriend," Row said in a small voice. "Professor Dumbledore getting sick."

Ron could only stare. "You knew about all that?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Before it happened?"

"But I didn't understand it," Rowan insisted, staring at her hands. "I…I'm sorry, I should have told one of you, but…they were just fleeting images. I didn't know what they meant!"

Ron saw the panicked, even guilty look on the young girl's face, and relaxed his grip on his desk. "It's alright, Row," he said in a soothing voice. "I understand."

Rowan looked relieved briefly, but then tore her eyes away from Ron's. "At the end of last year, when Professor Drago left, it got…worse."

"How so?"

"I was getting visions constantly about these scrolls…I-I didn't know what they were then, I just kept seeing them everywhere – at night, in my dreams, even during the day. And there were horrible, horrible visions of…of you, and Professor Granger, and all these Muggles getting sick. And then they almost became like Muggle movies, and I had to watch this whole meeting take place…the one where you were there. I saw that a few days before you left…and I was going to tell you in the hospital wing that day, but…" Rowan trailed off and looked up to Ron. His face was as white as a ghost's.

Ron paused, looking at the papers on his desk but not really seeing them. "How much do you know?" he asked slowly.

Rowan looked away. "Almost everything, I th-think," she said in a timid voice.

"About…about the Scroll of Malady, and…the Dark Hand?"

"And Egypt, and w-why you had to go away," she answered, looking a bit frightened.

Ron's eyes suddenly lit up, and he abruptly stood. "Who is it, Rowan?" he demanded. "Who has the scroll of Malady? Who's leading the Dark Hand?"

Rowan shook her head. "I…I don't know."

Ron's heart sank, and his face fell.

"I'm sorry, I really am!" Rowan cried. "I can't help w-what I do and don't see, I just kept having these visions…oh, they're h-horrible, and they sometimes last hours at a time and I have to just w-watch…" Her breathing hitched, and her lip trembled. A second later, tears were pouring down her pale, freckled face.

Ron didn't know what to do. The girl obviously needed help with her gifts, and Trelawney was _not the person to help her. On the other hand, she knew about things that could not be revealed to anyone else. Ron stood up and stumbled over to the young Divination apprentice, awkwardly patting her back. She stopped sobbing and tried to take deep breaths._

"Rowan, you can't tell anyone about this, do you understand?" Ron said gravely. 

She nodded wordlessly, hiccupping. "T-that's not everything, t-though," she said between sniffles.

"What else?" Ron asked quickly, hoping he didn't sound too eager or demanding.

"It's…" Rowan gestured uselessly and started fingering her necklace again. "It's difficult to explain…it's like a feeling more than anything. Something's wrong…with the past, with the future…Professor Trelawney says I'm just over-imaginative, but I _know something's wrong. It's like…like…oh, I don't know how to explain it!" she cried passionately, stomping her foot. Ron blinked; he'd never seen Rowan Richardson this emotional or honest. In fact, this was probably the longest he'd ever heard her speak. He waited patiently for what she would say next. She took another shaky breath and tried to regain her composure._

"The visions are stopping," she said quietly. "I don't get them anymore."

Ron felt disappointment again; after all that, it turned out that Rowan couldn't even help any more.

"I think it's because of my feeling," she explained, "like the future's…muddled. Like something wasn't supposed to happen, and now it has, and it's altered everything. I feel so helpless," she muttered dejectedly, dropping down to sit on the textbooks again. Ron remained standing.

"You and me both," he said with a wry smile, rubbing his chin. Something suddenly occurred to him. "Row…you mentioned Herm - I mean, Professor Granger before. And tonight, at dinner…"

"Oh, yes…I forgot…"

Ron felt his heart thud against his ribs. "What is it?" he managed to say.

Rowan sighed and then began to speak, slowly. "Sometimes," she said, "when something very…big, or emotional, or dramatic is going to happen in someone's life, even if they aren't very talented in the art of Divination, they will start Seeing things, usually in dreams."

Ron's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?"

"I've sensed some…distress from Professor Granger," Rowan answered. "Psychic distress. And her aura is a lot more powerful than before."

Ron shook his head, not wanting to believe. "No…no, Hermione has a mundane aura, Trelawney said herself…"

"Professor Trelawney's often wrong," Rowan said, and Ron was surprised at the sharpness in her voice. She immediately looked sorry. "I…I didn't mean that. It's just that sometimes we…disagree, Professor Trelawney and I. Anyway, I think Professor Granger's aura is so strong suddenly because she's been Seeing something that will happen to her…" she raised her eyes and blushed, "…or you."

Ron blinked. "Or me? So Hermione's not necessarily in danger?" He dared to breathe.

"Well, um…Professor Granger is…er, emotionally attached to you, right?" Rowan's face was very red. Ron didn't want to know what visions she'd had that would lead her to that conclusion.

"Yes," he answered honestly, also feeling his ears go a bit red. "What does that mean?"

"She may be getting these visions because something's going to happen to _you_, not her," Rowan explained. "That sometimes happens too."

Ron stood very still, trying to absorb it all. Knowing Hermione, she would dismiss anything that remotely resembled a vision as a daydream or nightmare, a product of lack of sleep or stress. But if she knew about something important that was going to happen to either one of them…and if it had to do with the Scrolls of Scuro…

"So I guess I should ask Hermione…that is, Professor Granger…if she's had any interesting dreams lately," Ron said slowly, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes," Rowan replied. She looked much calmer now, and at peace, as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest. She stood up. "I'm really, really sorry for intruding into…these things that I shouldn't know," she said bashfully.

"It's not your fault, Row."

"I have to learn to control the Inner Eye," Rowan said, shaking her copper head. "I had visions when I didn't want to have them, and now that you want me to See ahead, I can't. I'm going to be a horrible Divination teacher."

Ron put a hand on his former students shoulder and smiled. "No one could possibly be worse than our current Divination teacher," he grinned. Rowan tried to suppress a smile.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beat," Ron said casually, his voice not reflecting the current turmoil in his mind. He stretched and yawned. "Walk with you up to the staff common room?"

"Okay," Rowan replied shyly. She walked out of the office and waited as Ron locked his office door. They started strolling through the empty halls.

"You know what Harry…Potter, that is…and I used to do in Divination?" he asked, smiling.

"What?"

"Make everything up. Let me see your palm."

Rowan smiled a little, then obliged and gave Professor Weasley her palm. He studied it closely as they walked.

"Hmm," he said in a misty, high-pitched voice. "Oh, you _are_ in trouble, my dear." Rowan giggled. "You see this line? It's in line with Orion's belt, which means that you will soon make a friendship with a half-hippo, half-monkey type creature. And this line? It means that you will be hospitalized after a wrestling match with Dumbledore."

Rowan wrenched her palm away to cover her mouth, shaking with muffled laughter. Ron grabbed her palm back and grinned mischievously. "And _this_ line…" he closely inspected her palm, "means that you are in love with a brown-haired young teacher."

Rowan's giggles abruptly stopped as she turned a lovely shade of red. Ron pretended to act surprised at his own prediction. "Hmm," he mused thoughtfully. "Who could that be?"

"Is it that obvious?" Rowan muttered after a long silence.

"What?" Ron asked innocently, a lopsided grin forming on his face. "I was just making stuff up, like I said."

They came to the entrance to the staff common room, but before Row could say the password, Ron put a hand on her arm. "All joking aside, Rowan," he said seriously, "if you see anything at all - concerning this business, or me, or Professor Granger - you'll tell me right away, won't you?"

Rowan nodded silently. "I will, but…but I can't control it like that," she added helplessly.

"I know," Ron said, sighing. "I know."

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No thong song this chapter, although I do ask politely for you to review.

REVIEW, DAMMIT!

Like so.

Thanks to all of you who review faithfully almost every chapter…it means a lot to me, and your criticism/comments/random musings about life in general are great! ^_^


	13. Questions

**Author's Notes:** No time for clever author's notes! Must go soon! Sorry if this chapter isn't quite exciting as the last! Ahh…must post this now before I go to bed! Damn you daylight savings and ff.net not working for the past three days and now working at 10:00 at night when I have to wake up early for a student council meeting tomorrow morning!!!

***

Christmas Day at the Burrow was always a grand occasion – the seven grown up Weasley children were rarely all at home at the same time, so Christmas offered a chance for them and their respective wives/fiancées/girlfriends/friends to gather, exchange presents, and consume unhealthy amounts of Molly's fine cooking. It was also a time of reminiscing and laughter, of remembering the feeling of waking up on Christmas morning when they were small, to the scent of cinnamon and evergreen. But as he looked around at his grown-up brothers and sister on Christmas Day, Ron never failed to realize that their childhoods with all of their adventures, good and bad, were truly over.

"Mum! George jinxed me!" Percy said furiously, stomping into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley, Penelope, and Charlie's fiancée Sarah were setting the table. Ron and Hermione both exchanged looks and burst into laughter, having just stepped out of the fireplace.

"Shut _up, Percy!" George hissed, hiding his wand behind his back as he followed his older brother in. Percy's right arm had turned a nasty shade of purple and was beginning to sprout little green hairs._

Well, they weren't _too_ grown-up.

Ron had tried to put aside all of his worries and anxieties for just one day, and had succeeded in fooling Hermione and his family thus far. He would at least allow himself to have a happy Christmas before worrying about sinister, more pressing things. He'd even managed to hold off on questioning Hermione about her supposed "visions", even though the questions were on the tip of his tongue even now, as she tried to make her hair look presentable. It had gone extremely frizzy in the fireplace on the way there.

Ron shook the ashes out of his own hair and set down the large stack of presents he'd been carrying to bend down and kiss his mum hello. She absently gave him a smile and then pointed the large, wooden spoon in her hand at George. 

"You'll set your brother right this instant, George Weasley!" Molly snapped.

George sighed loudly; the famous Beater was used to bending the rules to his will, but his celebrity status wouldn't get him different treatment from his mother. "Yes, Mum."

"And grow up, will you, George?" Sarah added bossily. George stuck his tongue out at her in an overly-childish gesture. Sarah returned the favour when Molly's back was turned and grinned. George skulked back into the living room while Percy sat down and allowed his wife to fuss over his purple arm.

"Happy Christmas, everyone," Hermione smiled, taking off her coat, even though Ron had reminded her several times over that they were going by Floo and it was useless to bring a coat. She still hadn't let go of some of her Muggle traditions – at Christmas, you wore a fancy coat, and it was simple as that.

"It's about time you showed up, Hermione, now we girls aren't _so outnumbered," Ginny said, going over to hug her friend. "We have to keep these boys in line, of course," she said wryly, hands on her hips._

Hermione laughed. "I'll do my best. Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh no, dear, we're almost done here," Molly said brightly, smiling fondly at her. She hadn't been too impressed with Hermione's behaviour when she had been ignoring Ron and Harry a few years ago, but the generous Mrs. Weasley had been quick to forgive her. Ron had a feeling this had something to do with Hermione bursting into tears and apologizing to the Weasley's last summer. Then she had become "that poor dear" to Molly, and had been like a daughter to her ever since.

"How are your parents?" Ron's mother asked as she began heaping food onto platters and then sending them flying over to the table.

"Just fine," Hermione answered, starting to help set the table anyway. "We visited them last night for Christmas Eve. It was lovely."

Hermione thought it had been lovely. Ron thought it had been hell on earth. The Grangers had seemed to be at a loss for conversation topics around a full-blooded wizard, and had resorted to talking about current news in the Muggle world, which had, of course, included the supposed "flu" going around. Ron had squirmed in his seat all night, fists clenched, not touching a morsel of food as Hermione's parents went on about the flu scare, and the health precautions many people had started taking. The Grangers were very nice people, of course. They had no idea why Ron had been so silent all night, or that their good-natured attempts at conversation had tortured him. They were totally oblivious as to the true nature of the flu, or that they or their daughter could be the next to get it.

Ron shook his head and came back to reality. "Happy Christmas, Dad," he greeted his father as he walked into the kitchen.

An Auror's greatest asset was the power of observation. Ron took in everything about his father as he walked into the kitchen – the long-suffering, weary look on his face, the slight stoop of his shoulders, the way he was shuffling his feet, and the small sigh that escaped him – and immediately started making horrible assumptions. His father worked at the Ministry, of course. Perhaps he'd just been told about the scrolls. Or maybe he'd known about them all along and had just found out that the other four scrolls had been found. Or perhaps Harry or someone was in trouble. Or worse, someone was – 

"What's wrong, Arthur?" Molly demanded before Ron could truly panic.

"Bill just knocked over one of my antique Muggle teapots," Arthur explained, sighing again. "I've had that since before he was even born."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Ginny looked at him strangely.

"Make him buy you a new one," Sarah suggested.

"Oh, don't be silly, dear. Bill can't even afford a decent haircut," Molly said dryly. "Boys!" she suddenly called loudly, floating the last of the steaming platters of food over to the table. "Dinner's ready!" 

"Really, Mum, you _should make him at least find Dad a new – " But Ginny was cut off before she could even finish, as the rest of the Weasley boys burst into the kitchen, pushing and jostling each other. George and Bill wrestled for the seat at the head of the table, while Fred, Charlie, and Ron all stretched out their greedy hands to take the lids off the steaming platters of food._

Ginny sighed loudly and put her hands on her hips. "Boys will be boys," the youngest Weasley said wisely, walking to the table with as much dignity as she could muster, possibly to show her older brothers up. At age twenty-four, she was still often thought of as the baby of the family, and took every opportunity to prove her maturity to her older brothers. But none of them took any care to notice the grace and maturity of their little sister, as they were all busy greedily heaping food onto their awaiting plates.

Molly had already snapped into her mothering mode, as she slapped a few freckled hands and busied herself bringing more food to the table. Percy and Penelope finally seated themselves side-by-side as Molly scolded the rest of the family. "Honestly, you're grown men! Can't you even wait for your own mother to get to the table before you start stuffing your faces?"

Fred and George muttered something muffled through mouthfuls of food.

"You too, Arthur," Molly snapped as Mr. Weasley reached for a bun. Like a guilty child, he pulled his hand away and stared at his plate, the shadow of a smile on his fatherly face. Mrs. Weasley slowly sat down into her chair, and everyone re-commenced eating.

Ron felt a foot nudge him under the table, and turned to Hermione, who had just watched him gobble down a drumstick in three seconds flat.

"Quite an appetite you have now, hmm?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She touched his arm. "You've been miserable and moping and haven't touched a morsel all week, but now…"

Ron nearly winced as again, his thoughts were brought back to the darker things that had been plaguing him since his return from London. He was just as quickly snapped out of it by the sound of his older brother's patronizing voice.

"Aw, ickle Ronniekins…haven't touched a morsel all week!" Fred exclaimed in his best mocking, baby voice.

"Good thing you have Hermy to take good care of you, isn't that right snookums?" George added, making a disgusting kissy face over his chicken and mashed potatoes.

Hermione quickly dropped her hand into her lap, blushing furiously. Once the Weasley family had become used to the fact that Ron and Hermione were together romantically now, they took every opportunity to tease the pair. Ron, after years of such teasing and torture from his older brothers, thought nothing of it; but as an only child, Hermione wasn't used to being the butt of sibling jokes.

Full and content for the moment, Ron ignored the twins and took the opportunity to glance around the table.

Next to the newly married couple, who were still in deep conversation with Molly and Arthur, sat Ginny, her copper-coloured hair pulled back into a neat bun. But the look didn't fool Ron; her eyes were still eager and child-like, and there were still freckles scattered all over her face. It was true that Ginny was now an adult in every sense of the word – she had long ago moved out of the Burrow and had bought a little flat of her very own, and she now worked as a nurse at St. Mungo's – but she would always be Ron's kid sister, no matter how grown up she became.

The twins were, for once, unaccompanied. Ron blinked, surprised that he hadn't noticed this fact before – usually the flashy, vapid blondes on each of their arms stuck out like sore thumbs in the Weasley household. But there were no supermodels to be seen today. In fact, Fred and George had been acting slightly more humble of late. Humble for the infamous Weasley twins, at least. Even the attention-craving English Beaters seemed to be getting fed up with the celebrity life. Ron had even heard them talk, casually at first, but now more seriously, about opening up a joke shop like they had always wanted to. The twins seemed to have realized, probably to their horror, that they had become the thing they hated most – Bighead Boys.

Bill was unaccompanied as well; the Weasley's had long suspected that he had a girlfriend, but he preferred to keep her a secret and infuriate them all by innocently declaring that he was just a lonely bachelor. However, the fact that he showed up to Arthur's last birthday party with lipstick on his cheek didn't lend much to this claim. To Molly's distress, Bill's hair was still long, his occupation was still far from home, an earring still dangled from his ear, and he remained unmarried and unengaged. They knew Bill wouldn't have it any other way.

Charlie, on the other hand, was very much engaged, though one wouldn't know that the feisty blonde sitting next to him at the table was his fiancée. Charlie and Sarah kidded around and teased each other as if they were old friends, which in fact they were. When Sarah had joined Charlie's team in Romania, they'd taken an instant liking to each other and had been best mates ever since. The Weasley's had never really figured out when Sarah had stopped being Charlie's best friend and had started being his romantic interest. Bill always joked that it was when Charlie asked her to marry him.

Finally, Ron's parents; there were a lot more grays in Molly Weasley's hair, and a lot less hair on Arthur Weasley's head, but the two of them never seemed to really change. His dad, despite the rough times he had endured eight years ago as an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix, was still a little boy at heart. Arthur still collected spark plugs and was still fascinated by anything Muggle; in fact, he had recently been promoted to Head of the newly-formed Department of Muggle Security. Molly's eyes, which had been somewhat bleak and lacking their usual fire lately as she watched all of her children grow older and leave her, were suddenly alive again, surrounded by her family.

"…really shocking," Arthur was now telling Bill and Charlie, who were listening with interest. "The department still is, of course, very new, but we're starting to get all these reports of anti-Muggle violence that we have to break up…it's horrible."

Ron's stomach clenched as he was brought back to reality, and he once again was enshrouded in worries and thoughts of the problems at the Ministry. _I can't even get through a meal anymore,_ Ron thought dejectedly, putting down his fork.

"I told you, Arthur!" Molly interrupted shrilly, spearing a few pieces of asparagus with such force that it shook the plate. "It's all that…that _man's_ fault!" she spat. She dumped the asparagus on Ginny's plate and then sat there, seething. Ginny and Ron exchanged looks.

"Let's _not talk about that jerk," Sarah said, making a face. "It's Christmas."_

"Who, Mr. Stark?" Percy asked.

"No, Perce, the Easter Bunny," Fred said sarcastically.

"Well, I understand his views could create some conflicts," Percy continued diplomatically, "but physical, violent ones? I mean, I definitely don't agree with his opinions and future plans for the Ministry, but you can't really hold a politician at fault for causing _that_."

"You can hold politicians at fault for causing a lot of things, Percy," Arthur said grimly. Everyone was quiet for a moment. They knew he was talking about Fudge.

"I'll be so glad once these elections are over," Hermione spoke up. "Then Crump will be Minister, and Stark will be out of the media and out of our lives. Then all of this will die down, you watch."

Ron felt a glow of pride at her optimistic view. He only wished that he could think of things the same way. He anxiously searched Hermione's face; she had barely touched her food, and her face was so white. He impulsively reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand under the table. She glanced at him, surprised, then smiled and squeezed back, clueless as to what had caused the sudden gesture of affection.

"The election banquet is coming up soon, you know," Arthur suddenly said. "Percy and I will be attending…and I know you're not part of the Ministry any longer, Ron…but you're welcome to come. Harry will be there, of course, and you can catch up with the rest of your old friends," Arthur finished. His blue eyes met Ron's, and Ron wondered just how much his father knew, if he knew anything at all.

***

The gathered family roared with laughter as the wand Ginny had pulled out from within the wrapping paper jumped out of her hand, hit her on the head, and then fell to the floor and began to dance on the carpet. She made a face and turned to the twins, who were clutching their stomachs and cackling.

Perched on an armchair, Ginny rolled her eyes. "Unfair!" she exclaimed. "One of them gets me every single year!"

"We wouldn't have it any other way, Gin," Fred said sentimentally, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"We wouldn't have it any other way," George agreed.

With such a large family, and such limited funds, when they were younger the Weasley children had always done a sort of "Secret Santa" tradition when it came to Christmas gift-giving. Each Weasley child would put their name into a hat, and then draw another name. You would have to buy a small Christmas present for whomever you picked. For the past twenty years, Fred or George had always gotten Ginny. Ron was beginning to suspect that, perhaps, this was rigged.

The Weasley siblings all received a present from their parents, as well. Ron smiled wryly as he opened a brand new set of quills and other stationary from his mum and dad, "For doing _paperwork," Molly stressed, giving him a sharp look. "Paperwork, just like a __teacher should be doing." She had, of course, received Hermione's Howler when he'd disappeared from Hogwarts, and had been most displeased. Ron caught Hermione's eye and she looked away sheepishly._

Ron turned over his quills in his hand while Percy opened his gift, still darkly brooding on the chaos at hand. Perhaps he _would_ go to the election banquet. He had gone to one before, and it had been a rather boring and stuffy affair; the candidates made their final speeches, socialized with members of the Ministry and other important people, and then everyone ate. The voting usually took place sometime in the next week. However, this year's controversial campaigns promised that this banquet would be a bit more interesting. Plus, there was the prospect of seeing the Aurors there; perhaps then Ron could get some answers, and convince them to let him help them somehow.

Seeking to get away from the noisy room, Ron stood up from the couch. Hermione immediately followed suit, still laughing over the dancing wand, which had become exhausted and had fainted on the floor.

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" Hermione asked, putting a hand on his arm. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter and her eyes were sparkling. Ron smiled a little; it was good to see some colour in her face.

"To get some air," Ron replied lightly, his smile becoming strained. "Coming?"

"It's freezing outside!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron shook his head and drew out his wand. "That's what _these_ are for," he said, rolling his eyes and tugging on her hand.

Hermione began to protest, but suddenly fell quiet as the twins proceeded to make kissing noises from the corner of the living room, where they were trying to resurrect their joke wand. Glowering at them and lowering her eyes to the ground, she followed Ron outside.

"They're just being idiots as usual," Ron told her as they stepped out into the frigid air. His teeth were already beginning to chatter. "They're only teasing us because they know you can't stand it."

"Well it's embarrassing," Hermione said huffily. "Don't they have any manners? _Honestly." She folded her arms and shivered, now in a bitter mood. "Well? Are you going to use that or not?" she asked, nodding at his wand._

"_Abra__ kadabra," Ron joked half-heartedly, wrapping his arms around her instead. She snorted at the corny joke, then gave in and snuggled up to his cloak, resting her head on his shoulder with a small sigh. Ron just held her for awhile, pressing his cheek against her forehead, which was strangely warm despite the icy temperature. He would not have minded just standing there like that forever, never releasing her and allowing her to go into the world, where she could get sick, or hurt, or - _

"Ron." Hermione's voice was muffled; she was speaking into his cloak. "I don't mean to, er…ruin the moment, but…I'm cold," she said awkwardly. Ron reluctantly released her, and they started to head back to the house in silence.

He felt her eyes on his face even before she said anything. Ron sighed and stopped walking, sure of what was coming next.

Hermione sighed as well, staring at the snowy ground. "Ron, listen…I don't mean to pry, I really don't."

"I know," Ron muttered.

"I'm worried about you," Hermione said, and her voice genuinely did sound sick with worry. If only she knew just how much he was worried about _her_. She reached up and touched his cold cheek, frowning. "You barely eat, you hardly talk, I _know_ you're not sleeping, and you just sit around all the time moping and brooding. Now…" she hesitated. "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions about what went on in London, or why Harry was 'too busy' to come today," she said quietly. "But you're scaring me, Ron. I _had_ to ask."

He was going to tell her, right then and there. The hurt look on her face, the concern in her voice – he knew it was taking great willpower for Hermione not to just bossily demand some answers. He admired that. Ron opened his mouth to tell her, to let it all pour out.

"You are the fattest owl I have ever seen," a voice behind them said strictly, making both Ron and Hermione spin around. Charlie had to choose that exact moment to walk outside, Pigwidgeon perched on his shoulder. "And for an owl your size, that's quite an accomplishment."

The minute owl gave a guilty hoot.

"Mum feeds you way too much," Charlie scolded him. "You're getting outside and getting some exercise…oh," he said awkwardly as he noticed the couple. He glanced from Ron to Hermione. "Am I…er…interrupting?"

"No," Ron said in relief, semi-glad Charlie had stopped him. The consequences might haven been dangerous. He had to learn better self-control. "We were just going inside." He chanced a look at Hermione; she had folded her arms, looking resigned.

"Oh, all right," Charlie answered. "Uh, by the way, I _wasn't_ just having a conversation with an owl, all right?"

"Right," Ron replied, forcing a smile. He followed Hermione inside, leaving Charlie in the yard, and shook the snow out of his hair.

Hermione took a deep breath; he could see that curiosity was killing her. "I won't pester you about this any more," she promised with effort.

"Thanks," Ron said gratefully, bending down to kiss her forehead. Hermione pushed onto her tiptoes at the last second and met his lips with hers.

Both of them jumped as they heard a whistling sound behind them. There stood the twins, mischievous grins plastered on their faces.

"Oh, shut up you two," Ron snapped, seeing Hermione's face go red once again. "Don't be pricks for once, all right?"

"Oh, sure thing, snookums," Fred snickered.

"Sweetie pie."

"Honey bear."

"Sugar quill."

Ron watched as Hermione suddenly went pale, and her hands dropped to her sides. She clenched her fists. Ron raised his eyebrows, and then suddenly it hit him: Charles.

"Love bug," George continued gleefully.

"Baby – "

"Shut up!" Ron said with such ferocity that both of them promptly shut their mouths and exchanged looks. Hermione looked up again; she looked a bit shaken, but she just smiled at Ron.

"Don't worry about it," she insisted quietly.

"Uh…" George said awkwardly.

"Hey, Hermione, it was just a joke," Fred tried, looking puzzled.

Hermione put on her bossy, annoyed face for them. "Ha, ha," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. This Hermione behaviour was familiar for the twins, who looked a bit more comfortable now.

"Ron, I'm a bit tired," Hermione announced. "Do you think we could go back to Hogwarts?"

Ron nodded, glaring at his brothers. Hermione smiled and left to say goodbye and get her coat. The twins looked to Ron.

"What's with her?" George asked.

Ron shook his head furiously. "You two are the biggest prats I know," he spat, and then turned to follow Hermione. The look on her face…all because of Donovan Owens, masquerading as her boyfriend last year, using and manipulating her. It was sick people like that who had used the Scroll of Malady. He couldn't stand to see Hermione hurt again – emotionally or physically.

He was tired of doing nothing.

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Ta da! No time for witty songs! Don't worry, because the next chapter's a bit more exciting! I'll try to get it up A.S.A.P. to make up for the uneventfulness of this chap! Review!


	14. Answers

**Author's Notes:** Hey all! Sorry – I know I said that I'd post this chapter sooner, but I got caught up in writing the next few chapters, believe it or not, and didn't get around to proof-reading this one. I had a little trouble with the whole "Ron-explains-it-all" dealie within this chapter, so please excuse the kind of weird tone of that part. Yeah.

Also, I realized that I screwed up something a couple of chapters back, and just had to change, like, two sentences ever-so-slightly in Chapter 8. It's not a big deal, so unless you get confused, then don't bother going back.

And then, along came the chapter…

***

"Now you're _sure you're all right?"_

Hermione rolled her eyes at him as she dumped an armful of presents from the Weasley's on Ron's bed. They'd just returned by Floo to Hogwarts, and Ron had wasted no time in quizzing Hermione about the incident with the twins.

"For the thousandth time, Ron, _yes!_"_ Hermione exclaimed, exasperated."It just bothered me for a moment, and now I'm fine."_

"You're _sure you're fine, though?" Ron asked skeptically. "You're not…feeling sick, or anything, are you?"_

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Ron, I promised not to bother you about…whatever, but if you keep asking me strange questions, I'm going to be forced to ask you a couple of my own."

Ron licked his chapped lips and decided to drop it. "All right, all right." He chanced another look at her, and changed his mind. He had to know if what Rowan said was true. "But…you're sleeping well and everything, right?" he asked, carefully watching her reaction. He could have sworn that she looked up a bit sharply, surprise on her face, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come.

"_Yes_," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Ron sighed; he should have known that Hermione would never admit she had anything that could remotely resemble a vision. Now she was tapping her foot impatiently and smiling. "Now, do you want your present from Harry and I, or not?"

Presents? They had totally slipped Ron's mind. Hermione's was hidden around in his room somewhere, unwrapped and totally forgotten. Feeling guilty, Ron sat next to her on the bed. "You've been speaking to Harry?" he asked in interest.

"If you could call it that," Hermione replied, shrugging. "We sent a few owls back and forth, trying to decide what to get you," she smiled and sped up, talking excitedly, "and then he found the most _perfect_ thing, and well…close your eyes," she commanded eagerly.

Ron fought the urge to ask her more about Harry, and resignedly closed his eyes. A moment and a lot of crinkling of wrapping paper later, Hermione called for him to open his eyes. Ron obeyed.

Totally forgetting everything for a moment, Ron stared at the long, brightly wrapped package in his lap. He remembered Harry getting one just like it in shape and size, back in third year…

Hermione watched him gleefully as he tore off the wrapping paper and stared at the beautiful creation in his lap. Its handle was expertly polished, the design sleek, the bristles perfectly trimmed. Ron ran his fingers over the emerald green, engraved letters in the handle: _Firebolt__TX__._

"_Wow_," Ron breathed, hardly daring to believe that it was his. "This is…this is…_wow."_

"It's supposed to be a very good broom, right?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "I mean, I read the instruction manual, and it says it has all these fancy features that the other Firebolts don't – for example, if you're dropping in altitude too fast it will automatically switch to auto-pilot, and if you lose control it will – "

Ron kissed her before she could list the other features of the Firebolt TX in alphabetical order. She broke away and breathlessly continued talking. "And Harry told me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't come today. And that the broom's not cursed." She smiled wryly. "So if I try to take it to Professor McGonagall, let him know so that he can kill me."

Ron laughed. "I'll be sure to do that," he grinned. Suddenly embarrassed, he carefully placed the Firebolt TX in Hermione's hands and walked over to his dresser drawer, rummaging around for her present. "Er…it's in here somewhere," he muttered, feeling his ears turn red. "Ah…found it." He emerged with a white envelope, painfully aware of how stupid his gift was going to look next to hers. Hermione took the envelope eagerly, however. Her eyes lit up as she opened it.

"A certificate for an autographed version of _Hogwarts: A History; Second Edition_!" she exclaimed, and then burst into laughter. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nah," Ron said, still embarrassed. "Look, I know it's stupid, but…"

"Nonsense! It hasn't even been released yet, you know, and when it does it's just going to _fly_ off the shelves…I'll be really lucky to have one of these," Hermione insisted, holding up the certificate.

Ron highly doubted that _Hogwarts: A History; Second Edition would fly off the shelves, but he smiled anyway and nodded. Hermione leaped off his bed, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Her lips were warm against his, and her face felt flushed. Ron felt his hands start to creep around her waist as the kiss slowly became deeper. His hands became tangled in her hair. Her fingers drew circles in that sensitive place on the back of his neck, where his hairline ended. It sent shivers down Ron's spine. He started to draw her closer to him…_

_No_, Ron thought firmly as he abruptly broke away. Hermione needed rest if she was going to remain healthy.

"Er…I'm sort of tired," he said with a fake smile.

"Oh," Hermione looked disappointed and a bit embarrassed as she quickly removed her arms from his neck. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

"Yeah," Ron agreed awkwardly, staring at the floor.

"Happy Christmas, then," Hermione said, pressing her lips to his cheek. She collected her gift certificate on the way to the door, and gave him a quick, embarrassed smile one more time as she paused in the doorway. Ron watched her quietly close the door behind her, then fell backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

***

Ron Weasley bolted upright in bed, clenching his sheets so hard it hurt. His heart was pounding painfully; sweat was dripping down his forehead, into his eyes. His breathing was irregular and forced, and his head was spinning. He blinked and blindly looked around in the darkness, trying to remember where he was.

Hogwarts. He was safe in his bed at Hogwarts. Breathing a sigh of relief, he released his bed sheets and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. The memories of whatever nightmare he'd just had were already fading, slipping away from him. He frantically tried to grasp at whatever snatches of the nightmare he could. But the fleeting images were brief and made little sense. All Ron knew was that the nightmare had scared him senseless. He finally gave up, and the dream totally escaped him. His heartbeat began to return to normal, and he slowly lay back down, trying to close his eyes again.

That was when he realized he wasn't alone in his bedroom.

Ron went stiff. The other person's breathing was slow and shallow, but the soft footsteps were definitely there, approaching his bed. Ron lay very still, hoping to surprise the intruder. He could feel the tiny hairs rising on his arms and on the back of his neck. He silently curled his fingers around his wand, which he always kept under his pillow. It was an old habit.

"Ron?"

He relaxed. It was just Hermione; but her voice sounded shrill and frightened. How long ago had it been since he'd sent her to bed? Ron quickly sat up and muttered, "_Lumos."_

He watched her crawl into bed next to him like a scared little child. Her hair was damp and dishevelled, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Ron had never seen Hermione's face that pale before; she looked like a ghost in the dull light of his wand. Before he could say anything, she had reached out her cold hand and clutched his, resting her head on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side in the four-poster bed.

"You know how you asked me if I was sleeping well?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah?" Ron said in concern, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm not."

***

It was, of course, too cold to go for a walk on the grounds, but the castle was so big that it provided almost as much walking space as the grounds did. Ron had decided that the best thing to do, seeing as neither he nor Hermione had a chance in hell of getting back to sleep, was to go for a walk. And have a little chat while they did so.

"I've always…sort of, you know…had trouble with nightmares and such," Hermione said quietly, her arm linked with Ron's as they walked around the darkened castle. It was quite chilly in the halls, but both of them had put on heavy cloaks over top of their pajamas. "You know, after graduation, and…"

"I know," Ron responded. It had been tough to get Hermione talking; she'd been weak and frightened from a nightmare as well when she'd come into his room, but now out in the halls with him she seemed to have become stubborn and practical once again. She'd apologized for being silly and had nearly gone back to bed. But Ron hadn't let her.

"Go on," he said gently, trying to work the information out of her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "It doesn't mean anything," she warned him. "It's just my imagination playing tricks on me, I hope you know."

"All right." He would agree for now, and possibly tell her about what Rowan said later.

"It's different every time," she explained slowly. "I'm in this room…sometimes you're there too, sometimes you're not…and it's disgusting and full of cobwebs and things. I…or we…look around…" Hermione paused and furrowed her eyebrows, as if she didn't understand this part of her dream. "And then we hear this voice…oh wow, this sounds so incredibly silly out loud," she said, laughing nervously.

Ron tried to remain patient. "What? What does the voice say, Hermione?"

"It's so stupid. It doesn't even make any sense," Hermione insisted, rolling her eyes.

"Hermione," Ron said firmly.

Hermione sighed. "Fine. It says, 'Give me the scrolls.'"

Ron froze, and stopped walking.

"Whatever that's supposed to mean," Hermione continued, shaking her head. "It's probably just some random nonsense, but…it's so eerie, Ron, it scares the daylights out of me," she finished in a rush. She looked a bit relieved to have gotten this out, and then turned her attention back to Ron again. "Oh my goodness, Ron, you're as white as a ghost!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to his clammy cheek.

Ron felt a mixture of disbelief and vague disappointment. He couldn't believe that what Rowan had said was true; Hermione really was having some sort of psychic visions in her nightmares. How else would she have known about the scrolls? Yet he was slightly disappointed as well – he had thought that perhaps Hermione's dreams would mean something more, would give him the answers that he craved. But the dream made no sense.

"Is that all?" Ron asked.

"Yes…" Hermione said slowly, staring at him. "Ron, what is it? What's wrong?"

Ron glanced around. They were definitely alone. His sharp ears and eyes picked up nothing but a few suits of armour around them. He had no idea what possessed him at that moment, but he decided, then and there, to tell her.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely. "Have you ever heard of the Scrolls of Scuro?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "I don't believe so…why?" She caught the grave look on his face, and fell silent, trying not to look to eager to finally find out Ron's secret.

Ron took a deep breath. "I only know what they've told me, and what I've found out by myself since then," he explained, "So if it sounds strange or doesn't make sense, I can't help that."

Hermione nodded.

Ron closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them to look at her white face. "You've heard…about this influenza going around, right?"

Hermione looked at him as if he was mad; of course she did, they'd already discussed the topic many times. But Ron didn't know any other way to begin. She nodded and waited.

"I know what the Muggle scientists and doctors say," Ron said in a low voice, "that it's some sort of virus or something. And they're making up all these rules about it being contagious and precautions everyone should take…but there's nothing they can do, because no matter how careful they are, they're all susceptible to the sickness. They're totally…helpless."

There was a reason Hermione had been called one of the brightest witches Hogwarts had ever seen. She had caught on before Ron had even finished, and her eyes had widened. "It's magic," she said in disbelief. "But…how is that possible?"

Ron took a deep breath; the most difficult part to get out was over with, and Hermione had obviously immediately assumed the danger to her parents and other Muggles. But she still didn't know that she, too, was at risk. Ron tried to remember everything he'd been told and all the careful research he'd done in the past few weeks to get himself up to speed, and began to speak, Hermione listening intently.

"In medieval times…a little bit after Merlin's time, during the age of the Disappearance…there was a sorcerer by the name of Ferrentino Scuro. This guy was one of the ones that was opposed to the Disappearance - wizard-kind going into hiding from the Muggles because they were afraid of the future consequences if mankind continued to know of the existence of magic and wizards – "

"I know about the Disappearance, Ron," Hermione said, not impatiently or bossily, but gently.

Ron felt like an idiot. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, and the Disappearance was _only one of the most significant events in wizard-kind's history; of course she knew about it. In fact, they had probably studied it in detail in History of Magic at some point or another in seventh year. Leave it to Hermione to keep up with her studies, even in that turbulent year. Ron couldn't remember anything academic from their last year at Hogwarts. Had he even gone to class?_

"Sorry," Ron apologized sheepishly, clearing his throat. "Anyway, Scuro believed that we were the more powerful race, and shouldn't be the ones hiding from _them_. Now of course, Scuro was completely mad…mad, but brilliant. In a bad way. He used writings from ancient times and very advanced Dark concepts to create this powerful magic…_really Dark stuff…and poured it all into these five different scrolls, which were written in some weird cult language that Scuro and his followers created. We're still not sure if it's the words themselves that, when spoken, cause the damage, or if it's the actual scrolls – the parchment - that contain the power, but…that's beside the point. This Scuro bloke was possibly the greatest magical genius of his time, even if he used that genius to do something horrible. He's _still_ got the experts trying to figure out what the heck he did with those scrolls."_

Ron had said all of this very fast, but didn't dare to slow down or stop. He realized he probably sounded extremely foolish, but Hermione seemed to be catching on; she was used to his rapid ramblings and explanations by now.

"Anyway, the purpose of the scrolls was to destroy the Muggles, of course, so that the wizards could 'rule once more' or some nonsense like that. Each scroll had a different purpose. Scholars later named them for each function – the scrolls of Fear, Hate, Discord, Malady…" Ron trailed off and cleared his throat again, "and Death."

Hermione remained silent and allowed him to continue. Ron was thankful for it; he wouldn't have been able to keep going if she had interrupted him now.

"They were designed to work together to ruin Muggle society," Ron explained in a shaky voice, "all five scrolls had to be read – there's a whole ritual, apparently – for all of them to really work. If only _one scroll is read, its purpose is still fulfilled, but the effects eventually wear off. Thankfully, Scuro was killed by the wizards in authority at that time, and the scrolls were never used back then. I suppose officials tried to destroy them, of course, but apparently the scrolls _can't_ be destroyed._

"Instead, they were hidden all over the world in the hopes that all five would never be found, which was absolute ignorance on some people's parts, but that's beside the point. The scrolls eventually faded into legend and myths, and then disappeared from the history books altogether, probably wiped out by officials who knew about them out of fear that someone would try to find them."

Ron knew he sounded like he was quoting a textbook, and almost smiled wryly. This was usually Hermione's role. Ron had always thought that there were two people in the world who knew everything – Dumbledore, and Hermione. Whenever he and Harry had been stuck back in the day, Hermione would never fail to access the wealth of knowledge stored in her brain and either figure it out or explain it all. For once, he was the one with the knowledge. It was sort of queer to know something Hermione didn't.

"But there was this group, followers of Scuro's," Ron continued. "They passed on the story of the scrolls and the language they were written in from generation to generation, that type of thing, always searching for them. They named themselves the Dark Hand after some line in early legends about the scrolls. There were some close calls throughout history…whenever there were big Muggle conflicts, the scrolls seemed to always be linked somehow."

"I thought you said they were hidden?" Hermione asked, finally working up the nerve to speak.

"They were," Ron replied grimly. "It's like…they wanted to be found." Hermione lapsed back into silence. Ron took another deep breath. He was almost finished.

"The Dark Hand seemed to disappear, too, for awhile," he continued. "Until…the First Great War. What you call World War I. That was the biggest scare for the Ministries of Magic and the World Council…see, these guys found four of the scrolls. _Four_, not five. So even though the world was thrown into war, the full effect of the scrolls wasn't felt by the Muggles, because all five weren't used."

"Fear and Hate…" Hermione murmured to herself, "…had to be the Allies and the Axis pitted against each other like that. Death…that was all of the people that died in battle and because of the war, of course. And Malady…" Her eyes lit up as she made the connection. "The Spanish Flu…"

"Discord wasn't found or used, believe it or not," Ron explained softly. "Or else everything would have fallen apart…all of Muggle society. Gone. The Allies…that's the right name, isn't it? They would have never won."

"So they've found the Scroll of Malady again. And…_everyone's_ at risk?"

"Wizards aren't affected by the magic," Ron said, shaking his head. "That was Scuro's whole plan…to take down the Muggles"

"So just the Muggles."

Ron looked away. "And the Muggle-borns." He didn't look back at her, but he felt her grip his arm.

"It's…it's like the Chamber of Secrets all over again…just on a much larger scale," Hermione breathed. Instead of the fear Ron had expected to hear in her voice, there was anger there instead. Still, it didn't seem as though she had realized the risk to herself; more likely, Hermione was worrying about the students, her parents, her Muggle friends…she _had_ always thought herself invincible. "But…just Malady has been used, then, just the one scroll?"

"Yes. The others are supposedly safe," Ron confirmed. "About a year ago, the Wizard World Council – with staunch support from our Ministry - decided that they were better in the safekeeping of the government rather than spread out across the globe. Of course by then, no one had any idea where they had been hidden because all records had been destroyed, just to be safe. So authorities were sent looking for them all over the place. Unfortunately, we could only find the four."

"That's why Harry had to leave suddenly last year?" Hermione asked as the memory dawned on her.

"Yes. And as the leading world power, the British Ministry was given responsibility for those four scrolls. Lucky us. We were still searching for the Scroll of Malady when…this happened. Obviously it fell into the wrong hands."

"But…since it's only one, it _will_ wear off eventually, right?" Hermione demanded anxiously. "And nothing more will happen…I mean, people will get sick, but they won't – "

"Eventually it _will_ wear off," Ron confirmed, wanting to stop her before she finished her sentence. "But how soon that will be, no one knows. And yes, people will only get sick. But still, it's a horrible sickness. Last time they found a cure, the – "

" – vaccine," Hermione finished. "The Vaccinus potion. I've read about that, but nothing about these scrolls."

"Like I said, they've been wiped out from the history books. They didn't want anyone to know about them. I've been reading up about them from old Ministry documents and sources that I still have…I didn't exactly give them back everything when I retired last year," Ron said wryly.

"Obviously someone _does_ know about them, though…what happened after World War I?"

"The people responsible were put away," Ron told her. "In Azkaban. They didn't catch them all, but the ones they did were British, hence our Ministry's big involvement in this whole affair. Someone had found out about the scrolls, and the Dark Hand, and resurrected the group."

"And now…?"

"We suspect the Dark Hand's been brought back again," Ron said, folding his arms. "And I wonder who it could be?" he said sarcastically. Being sarcastic made things not seem so serious, so dire.

"Stark," Hermione said automatically.

"Bingo."

"You really think – "

"I _know."_

"Well? Why doesn't the Ministry do anything about it, then?"

"No proof, of course."

Hermione started fidgeting, tapping her foot as she thought. Ron could practically see the wheels spinning as she processed it all. "So that's why you went away, isn't it?" she said. "It was about this."

"Sort of," Ron said slowly. "It was Harry…he went looking for the Scroll of Malady before we realized the Dark Hand had it…he was in trouble, and he needed my help."

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice shrill. "What happened?"

"I guess Harry and Drago got a tip that Malady was somewhere in Egypt. Harry sort of got into some trouble there."

"What kind of trouble?" Hermione demanded. "You didn't do anything dangerous, did you? Is Harry all right?"

"The kind of trouble that gets him captured by evil treasure hunters," Ron said dryly. "And yes, I suppose it was dangerous, and yes, Harry's fine now."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, again letting it all sink in. "So…my dream…"

"I'm not sure what that's about, Hermione," Ron began uneasily. "You'll have to talk to Row about that. I have a feeling it's important, but it just doesn't make any - "

"Row?" Hermione interrupted, puzzled. "Rowan Richardson? What – "

Ron suddenly held up his hand, on every alert. There was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a feeling that they were not alone. Scarcely breathing, he slowly put his finger to his lips, signalling Hermione to be quiet. She quickly obeyed, looking apprehensive. Ron tipped his arm, feeling his wand silently slide out from inside his sleeve into his hand, and slowly turned, listening for the noise that he'd heard a moment ago. He was suddenly very glad that he had asked Hermione to repair his old wand, which had not been the same since he had stepped on it in Egypt.

Ron heard a scuffling sound in the corner.

"_Petrificus__ Totalus!" Ron hollered immediately. He saw the bright flash of light from his wand briefly light up a figure hiding in the shadows, and then watched as the person went very rigid and fell over, stiff as a board. Hermione let out her breath and also drew her wand, walking purposefully over to the rigid figure._

"Hermione! Oi, get back here!" Ron called after her sharply, walking quickly to catch up. "Don't! I might have missed and he might be faking. Or he might be – "

"Arden Roberts," Hermione said pointedly, quickly performing the counter curse and helping the young man up.

"Oh," said Ron in surprise. He abruptly narrowed his eyes and, gently pushing Hermione aside, jabbed his finger into Arden's chest. "And what exactly are you doing up, lurking around in the middle of the night?"

"I just…just went to get a snack, all right?" Arden said, looking a bit shaken up. "Since when does a bloke go around Petrifying everyone he sees? R-really!"

Ron took one look at Arden's terrified face and inwardly groaned. "How much did you hear, Roberts?" he asked quietly.

Arden stared at the ground. "Most of it," he muttered.

Ron rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling very tired. It was bad enough that he'd just blurted out everything to Hermione when he was sworn to secrecy. Rowan also knew, through her visions…and now Arden Roberts knew about everything, too. Harry was going to kill him.

"Look, I won't breath a word, honest," Arden said fervently. "It's just…oh Christ, am I going to get sick too? And my parents and my sisters?" He looked pale.

"It's nothing to worry about," Ron assured him. "It'll eventually wear off, so long as – "

To his surprise, the easy-going young man suddenly interrupted him loudly. "That's always the solution for you people, isn't it? It'll eventually wear off, and then we'll brainwash the poor Muggles, and they'll never know the difference, is that it?"

"Arden, calm down…" Hermione tried, putting a hand on his shoulder. He violently shrugged it off.

"How'd you like something horrible happening to you and your family, and no one even gives a goddamn because they can just wipe out your memory?" Arden continued ranting passionately. "How would you feel if your Dad's memory was never the same or your little sister had nightmares for months about floating in the dark? How would you feel, being the only wizard in your family, and finding out _exactly_ what they wiped out?"

Ron stared at him, dumbstruck. Arden was red in the face from bellowing, and Ron didn't have the heart to tell him to quiet down. But something about Arden's rant rung a bell…something was gnawing at the back of his mind…

Hermione made the connection first. "Oh my God, Arden…I never knew…"

Then it clicked. _Roberts._

The man at the Quidditch World Cup had been named Roberts; the man whose family had been paraded around in the air by the Death Eaters as part of their sick game. There had been a woman and her children in the air too…two tiny little girls, maybe aged three and five years old, and a brown-haired little boy.

"How old were you then?" Ron asked quietly. He had forgotten how long ago that had been…and that the young Muggle Studies professor was just barely into his twenties. There was a long pause, in which Arden took a few deep breaths, and his shoulders stooped slightly.

"Nine," Arden replied, now looking deflated. "I got my letter for Hogwarts the next year; first wizard in my family. I had no idea about that whole business, though…they modified our memories," he gave them a dark smile. "Wasn't pleasant finding out about it in Recent History of Magic books, a'course."

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron said sincerely, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "But it's going be all right, this scroll thing…you don't need to worry."

Arden gave him another half-hearted smile. "Sure…you Ministry people probably have it under control, right?" He was back to being positive and optimistic, it seemed. He looked like he felt almost sheepish for bursting out like that. "Just…those people bother me. The Muggle-haters. Like the ones that did that to my family at the World Cup. Just…" He clenched his fists, and then let them fall by his side. "Put 'em away, all right, Ron? In Azkaban. Where they can rot."

"I will," Ron promised seriously. "Er…sorry about Petrifying you and all."

Arden shrugged. "It happens. Uh…I really _was_ just getting a snack."

"We believe you, Arden," Hermione said kindly. "Are you going to go back to bed?"

Arden sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I think so. Won't be able to sleep much, mind, with all this in my head…but I'll try. Classes again tomorrow, eh? Well, 'night, you two." He turned to leave, and then looked back at Ron over his shoulder. "Ron…I won't tell a soul," he promised fervently.

"Thanks."

With that, Arden started walking back towards the staff common room, and disappeared around a corner. Hermione and Ron were alone once more. Hermione sighed deeply.

"Guess we should head back to bed too," she said softly. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep either, but…" She suddenly leaned forward and kissed Ron's lips, very softly. "Thank you. For trusting me."

"It wasn't a matter of trust, Hermione," Ron said, shaking his head. "I just didn't want you to get hurt. If anyone finds out that you know _anything…"_

Hermione smiled. "I can take care of myself, Ron."

"I know you can," Ron replied, squeezing her shoulder. His face suddenly darkened. "And you'd _better_ take care of yourself, you hear me? I don't want you…I don't want you getting – "

"I never get sick," Hermione insisted lightly, still not at all concerned with the danger to herself. "It's too much of an inconvenience. Now, I'm going to bed – tomorrow's going to be a long day after all this midnight gallivanting around the castle. Are you coming?"

Ron nodded. "In a minute. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Hermione responded, kissing him on the cheek. Soon she, too, had disappeared around the corner, and Ron was left alone, wondering if he had done the right thing. He may have just made the worst mistake of his life. Ron sighed deeply and leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms. Hermione's puzzling dream still bothered him, but he did feel a lot better – getting all that out in the open with Hermione had taken a great weight off his chest. He felt a sense of freedom, having gotten rid of everything he'd kept bottled up inside himself since this whole thing started. And he wasn't held back from Hermione by lies and deceit anymore. Plus, he could trust Arden…couldn't he?

"Ron."

Ron cursed loudly and whirled around to face the owner of the deep voice, wand in hand. The face he spun around to meet was very familiar, but very unexpected.

"Harry?" Ron exclaimed incredulously, convinced he had dozed off against the wall and was dreaming. "What the hell are – "

"Shh, you want to wake everyone up?" Harry whispered. His face was pale and he looked as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

"Listen…" the Boy Who Lived said with a sigh, glancing around to make sure they were alone. "We have a problem."

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Haven't had a good 'ol fashioned cliffhanger in awhile, so there you are. Now you can all hate me. ^_^

Okay…it's time to take a break from the silliness to be serious for a moment. Yeah, I know, it's a drag, but I really wanted to say this.

I live in Canada, about a half an hour away from Toronto. If you haven't already heard, there has been an outbreak in Toronto of SARS – Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. It's a severe form of pneumonia and it's very scary because it's incredibly contagious, and about 4% of people who have SARS will die from it. I know that SARS is already an epidemic in parts of Asia and many other places, and now that it's so close to home and there's all these health precautions in effect at my school, work, doctor's office, the hospital, etc., I felt like I should say something.

I came up with the concept of this story a long time ago. I wrote a lot of these chapters (in my mind) before the SARS outbreak in Canada or anywhere else. Now that there really is an outbreak of a "mysterious illness" just like in this fic, which is an extremely freaky coincidence, the story has become a lot more personal and a lot more serious. I just want everyone to know that any parallels to real life right now that this fic may have are purely coincidental and were _not_ planned and not meant to offend or anything. I'm hoping that through the characters in this fiction that I can maybe write about the worries and feelings of myself and a lot of people I know right now with a real-life sickness on our hands.

Sorry I had to do that whole shpeel, but a lot of the stuff in this chapter and the next has to do with the sickness from the Scroll of Malady, and the coincidentalness was starting to bother me, so I thought I should say something. Also, _please _if you live in Ontario or anywhere else that you're at risk for SARS, read up on SARS and the symptoms, for your own health and for everyone else's.

Well, that's everything. Thanks. ^_^


	15. Research

**Author's Notes: **Hey all! Well, here comes an enormous, _not broken up chapter by popular demand, despite the English seminar I have to do in a week. Meh, Harry Potter's kind of like King Lear, right? Whoa, maybe that can be my thesis…_

As you may or may not have read in my author's bio update thingies, I made a huge historical error like an idiot a while back and had to go back and correct some things. Plus, I got rid of the gigantic, annoying spaces between paragraphs that were in some chapters. Hoorah!

By the way, judging by the way the next few chapters are working out, you guys are all going to want to kill me. I know it's horrible, but I'm getting cliff-hanger happy. There's cliffies galore coming up. Please don't hurt me. It just increases the suspense! ^_^

***

"What the hell do you mean we have a problem?" Ron demanded, following Harry through the winding halls of Hogwarts. "Slow down, dammit! Harry! Why are you here? Where the hell are we going?"

"Shut up for a second, Ron!" Harry snapped, whirling around to face him. He blinked, looking a bit surprised at himself. Sighing heavily, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. "We're going to Dumbledore. He'll explain everything. Please…just trust me, Ron, all right?" He started briskly walking again.

"Dumbledore? What does Dumbledore have to do with anything? Oy, I'm asking you a question!" Ron yelled after him, jogging a bit to catch up. His patience was wearing thin; he'd been through quite a night, he was tired, and now his best friend and former partner had just shown up out of the blue for no apparent reason and told him that they had a problem. As if things couldn't get any worse. _"Harry!_"

Harry just shook his head at him as he muttered the password and began climbing the winding stairs to Dumbledore's office. Ron assaulted him with questions the entire way up, none of which the tired and distraught Harry answered.

" – and I thought you were busy today!" Ron continued as they entered Dumbledore's office.

The enormous, circular room seemed dark and still, as if mirroring the grimness of its inhabitants. Even Dumbledore's many noisy knick-knacks, littering tables and shelves around the office, had ceased their functions for the night. Harry and Ron both stopped and waited for the Headmaster, who was talking to someone with his back turned to them, to acknowledge them.

"Oh yeah, and thanks for the broom," Ron said to Harry, abruptly remembering.

"No problem. Headmaster?" Harry called, clearing his throat.

Dumbledore and the woman he'd been talking to turned around; it was, not surprisingly, Diana Drago. She crossed over to where the two men were standing. The three of them waited for Dumbledore to slowly sink into the chair behind his desk. The Headmaster's face was solemn.

"You are certain about this, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes flickering towards Ron.

"I always thought he should know," Harry said stubbornly. "It was stupid to keep it from him."

"Keep what from who?" Ron demanded.

"Show him the papers, first of all," Diana said, gesturing to a stack of newspaper on Dumbledore's desk. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore sent the stack of papers flying into Ron's hands. Ron glanced down at the clearly Muggle newspaper and read:

**Health officials redouble efforts to control mystery illness**

_Schools, malls across __U.K.__ closed in order to stop spread of unidentified bug_

"Son of a – " Ron swore, feeling his insides turn to ice as he flipped through the other papers and scanned the headlines. "_Disease fuels quarantine alert," he read out loud. "_Mystery illness threatens capital. Scientists stumped by contagious disease._" He glanced up at Harry. "It's that bad now?"_

"Muggles aren't allowed to visit hospitals any more," Harry replied, folding his arms. "People were warned not to go Christmas shopping in crowded malls. It's a mess."

"They think it's a mutated form of the influenza, highly contagious. No clue…" Diana said. Ron almost did a double take; he could have sworn he heard a hint of sympathy in her voice.

"But no one's died?" Ron asked anxiously.

"No one's died," Harry confirmed. He exchanged glances with Dumbledore. "No one will, as long as the other scrolls are safe."

"How long until this all wears off?" Ron asked, continuing to flip through the papers and feeling a mounting sense of dread.

"Weeks, months, who knows," Diana responded. She had walked to the opposite side of the room and was running her fingers along the dusty volumes in Dumbledore's enormous bookcase, which curved around the circular room.

"It's a guessing game, Ron," Dumbledore said quietly. "Which is why we _can't_ let any of the other scrolls fall into the wrong hands."

Ron stopped flipping through papers at the Headmaster's tone. He looked to Harry. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Why're you here, Harry?"

Harry's eyes locked with Dumbledore's. "First of all, you have to understand, Ron, why we weren't allowed to tell you. They wanted as few people as possible to know the location of the other four scrolls. They didn't want to take any chances."

A thrill ran through Ron; they were going to tell him where the scrolls were hidden. He'd be able to make sure they were safe. Perhaps he could even find a way to destroy them…

"One of the reasons Moody and Crump let you go so easily last year was because you were staying _here_," Harry explained. "We had Professor Dumbledore here, of course, and the fact that a former Auror was at Hogwarts as well made everyone feel a little better, you know, since you could be contacted and informed in case things got worse."

It was late, and he was exhausted, or else Ron would have caught on sooner. But when it finally did click, he tightened his grip on the papers in his hands and gave Harry a look of dread. "Oh _no_…"

"And things just got worse," Diana echoed, gesturing to the newspapers in Ron's hands.

"The scrolls are hidden here at Hogwarts, Ron," Dumbledore said solemnly, folding his wrinkled hands on his desk.

Ron just looked at the three of them, stunned, for a moment. He could not believe that Harry hadn't told him before. Harry, his partner; Harry, his friend. The scrolls were at Hogwarts, right under his very nose.

At _Hogwarts_.

Ron was having a hard time forming the words he wanted to say; his mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy. When he finally did speak, it was very slowly.

"…Are…you…people…_mad?" Ron exploded. "Hogwarts?" he cried in disbelief. "You bloody hid them here? At _Hogwarts?!_"_

"Why don't you just yell a _little_ bit louder," Diana suggested sarcastically. "I'll open a window if you want, then you can scream it to the world."

"You, shut up!" Ron snapped in frustration. He turned to Harry, who, surprisingly, looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Hogwarts, Harry? Come _on._"

Harry held back a smile. The situation was so serious, and yet they were all so tired and frustrated that it just seemed like such a relief to laugh. "It was the safest place we had," he explained apologetically.

"Oh yeah, _real_ safe," Ron replied sarcastically. "A guy with Voldemort on the back of his head, a giant snake, an alleged murderer, and a number of random Death Eaters have only managed to get in and/or be seen wandering around in here."

"The scrolls are quite protected, Ron, I assure you," Dumbledore spoke up.

"Oh, what, like the Sorcerer's Stone was?" Ron asked wryly._ Harry totally lost it; the seasoned Auror and respected member of the Order of the Phoenix snorted. _

Dumbledore gave them both a severe look; but there was the slight suggestion of a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Let us attempt to be serious for a moment, shall we?" he reprimanded them. "Ron, we took it upon ourselves to tell you this so that you will be aware. I know I can count on you to report any suspicious activity in the castle," he gave him a look over top of his spectacles. "From _anyone_," he stressed.

"I thought you said no one knows they're here?" Ron asked Harry, having sobered a bit.

"No one does, as far as we know," Harry responded. "Save the Order, and a few others in the Ministry. But you know how the scrolls are, Ron, it's like they want to be found."

"Well, if you people would just arrest Stark and be done with it…" Ron began angrily.

"See?" Harry said triumphantly, turning to Diana. "Ron thinks it's Stark, too."

Diana rolled her eyes. "He would."

"_Children," Dumbledore interrupted. "May we get back to business?"_

"Sorry, Headmaster," Harry said sheepishly. He cleared his throat and straightened, trying to look professional once more. "Ron, you have to understand that you can't tell _anyone_ about this. No one. Not even Hermione. We can't chance it…if the Dark Hand finds out they're at the castle, we're done for. You _are right…people __have gotten into Hogwarts before," Harry finished grimly._

Ron vividly remembered the feeling of horror he'd felt when he had realized that Voldemort - a Voldemort fully returned to strength and power - had somehow gotten into Dumbledore's impenetrable castle in seventh year, Harry's safe house.

_Correction_, Ron reminded himself, feeling bile rise to his throat. _He didn't get in somehow._ _Malfoy__ let him in._

They had all known that Malfoy was capable of it. He was, after all, the perfect inside source for his father, the rest of the Death Eaters, and Voldemort. How had they not seen it coming? All Malfoy had had to do was open a gate, and he could stroll right in…

But Hermione, Arden, and Rowan were hardly Malfoy. And, as of right now, they did not know that the scrolls were hidden in the castle. And Ron didn't plan to tell them.

"I won't say a word," Ron promised. It was true, of course. He _wouldn't tell Hermione, Arden, or Rowan where the scrolls were hidden. He'd just told them everything else, that was all._

"So…where are they?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual. "The scrolls, that is."

"Ron, do _not_ touch them," Harry said quickly, sounding alarmed. "If you go looking for them, I will – "

"Fine, fine, I won't," Ron promised sourly, holding up his hands.

"They can't be destroyed, Ron," Harry said quietly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You know we've already tried. Messing around with them is not going to help Hermione or any of the other Muggles and Muggle-borns."

"All right," Ron muttered. He clenched his fists, because deep down inside, he knew that what Harry had said was true.

Harry looked at him appraisingly, and, satisfied that Ron would keep his promise, took a deep breath. "There's a ton of chambers and entrances in Hogwarts that only appear at certain times, or on certain days," Harry explained. "We hid them in one of these chambers. It's guarded by every spell and curse and shield you can think of, and the entrance to the room only appears once a month – on the full moon."

"We wanted to find a room that was _less_ cheesy, but no such luck," Diana said with a smirk. Harry tried not to grin, but then once again put on his serious face.

"You're not to go near this chamber, or take any serious action without talking to any of us first," Harry said adamantly, "unless it's absolutely necessary. Just…be on alert. You know what to do."

"I will," Ron promised. "And I won't breathe a word about where they are, Harry. I swear."

"Well then," Dumbledore said briskly. "I believe that is all. I will speak with you further in the morning, Professor Weasley. Right now, I'm quite anxious to return to a particularly interesting dream about flying pancakes. Good night," he nodded to them all, and then rose from his desk.

Diana, still by the bookcase, held up a thin book with a worn, navy blue cover. "Can I borrow this, Albus?" she asked.

"But of course. Take care of yourself, Agent Drago," Dumbledore said with a fatherly sort of smile. Diana returned the smile and then followed Harry and Ron out of the room.

"Is that it, then?" Ron asked as the three of them walked down the spiralling staircase. "You're leaving?"

"Apparating back to London," Harry said, nodding. "There's work to do." He grinned weakly. "But first we're getting something to eat. I'm starved. Is it still the pear?"

Ron smiled. "Still the pear." They came to the bottom of the staircase and watched as the stone gargoyle concealed the entrance to Dumbledore's office yet again. The three of them stood there in silence for a moment.

"Er…it's going to be all right, Ron," Harry said awkwardly. "We didn't mean to panic you or anything…it's just getting more serious, you understand? Just…keep an eye on the old place, and they'll be safe."

Ron nodded. He had been slightly angry and even hurt that Harry hadn't told him that the scrolls were at Hogwarts earlier, but he now understood that Harry had had his reasons. At least now Ron finally had a purpose, something to do. He didn't feel as useless, or even as uninformed. Ron would protect the castle and those scrolls with his life. 

Still…it wasn't enough for him.

"I'd like to do some research," he said slowly, "about the First Great War. And the Dark Hand. And…Dameon Stark. Do you think you could get me some information?"

"Ron, all of that Dark Hand stuff has been gone through already – " Harry began.

"I know," Ron said. "Just…I'd like to, anyway."

Harry smiled in understanding. "I'll see what I can do."

"And you guys are working on a cure, right?" Ron added. "I mean, like the Vaccinus. We're not just going to sit here and wait for it to wear off, are we?"

"There's people working on that," Harry promised.

"But they're idiots," Diana added. "So we're working on it too," she said, exchanging a look with Harry. Ron glanced down at the book in her hand; it was entitled _Healing Properties of Spider Blood and Organs._

"Good to know," Ron said, trying not to make a face thinking of the book's contents.

"You're coming to the banquet, aren't you?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Just, uh…don't mention any of this to Moody or Foran, will you? They sort of don't know we told you."

"It was an executive decision," Diana said with a wry smile.

Ron grinned. "My lips are sealed. And…er, thanks. Both of you."

"Well," Harry said presently, before it could become a touching moment or anything like that. "I'm starved. Shall we sneak down to the kitchens?"

"Sure, but I'm waiting outside," Diana replied, folding her arms. "The house elves still think that I tried to poison Albus last year."

"Well…Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry said. Ron started; he'd nearly forgotten it was still Christmas. Had he really only had dinner with his family a few hours ago?

"Yeah, Happy Christmas," Ron answered, smiling. "And Harry…kick arse broom. Thanks, mate."

"Hermione did most of the work," Harry said humbly. "But you're welcome. Thanks for the maroon sweater."

Ron laughed. "That was just a joke. I'll get you something good later."

"Sure. When this is all over," Harry agreed with a small sigh. "Well, good night, Ron. We'll be in touch."

"Good. See you."

In a surprisingly polite gesture, Diana Drago also bid Ron good night. The two Aurors turned around, their black robes fluttering behind them as they did so, and started down the dark hall. They eventually rounded a corner, the few torches dimly lighting the corridors causing their enormous shadows to follow and eventually flicker and die as Harry and Diana disappeared from sight.

Ron wearily turned and headed back towards the staff common room. When he finally did make it back to his room, he immediately flopped onto the bed and fell asleep, still in his cloak. His sleep was peaceful and dreamless.

He'd had a long night, after all.

***

"Well, Ron," began Arden Roberts awkwardly, from behind a towering pile of books and files. "When you asked me to help you do some Auror-related work, I have to confess, I didn't think it was going to be _this_," he spread his arms wide to indicate the table before him.

Documents and files of every shape and size littered the large table, along with a few very heavy, dog-eared books. A lone candle flickered in the midst of the table, casting shadows onto the tired faces of those gathered around it. Rowan was slowly going through a file, her eyes focused and concentrated, if not a bit sleepy. Arden himself was half-hidden by a pile of books, and Ron was violently circling names and dates on various papers. Hermione was rapidly running her finger back and forth over a battered piece of parchment on her right, and then sporadically switching to a similar document on her left. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly, and her eyes were alight. Hermione lived for this kind of thing.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Ron replied to Arden apologetically, "but _this_ is what Aurors end up doing three quarters of the time. Research."

"All right," Arden agreed wearily, stifling a yawn. "But did we have to do it at one o'clock in the morning?"

"Somehow, I don't think McGonagall would appreciate us going through confidential Ministry documents in the staff common room," Ron responded wryly. "At least this way, everyone's asleep and no one will bother us."

"I'm surprised no one's heard us talking yet and come down to investigate," Rowan remarked.

"I put a sound proof spell around the room," Hermione explained, not looking up from her reading, "and an Alarum Charm. If anyone wakes up and heads down here, we'll be warned, and can get rid of all of this."

"Well, there you go," Ron said with a proud grin.

Harry had kept his word, and less than a week after his visit to Hogwarts, an assortment of Ministry documents had arrived for Ron, all books and files containing information about the First Great War and the Dark Hand. A bit daunted by the task of all that reading, Ron had, of course, asked Hermione for help. Soon Arden and Rowan had also begun to assist, rifling through documents and files well into the small hours of the night. Ron had still not told any of them that the very scrolls they were researching were hidden somewhere in the castle, right under their noses. And he had certainly not told any of them that Harry was unaware of their part in the researching process.

"I'm not complaining," Arden said apologetically, "I'm just saying, hasn't this stuff already been gone through by the blokes at the Ministry?"

Ron suddenly had a mental image of Joel Landers 'researching'. "The blokes at the Ministry aren't _always_ very thorough," Ron replied dryly.

"Harry really is amazing," Hermione said fondly, still not looking up from her work, "to get all of this for us. I don't even _want to know what he had to do to steal a bunch of confidential Ministry documents." Finally she did look up, and fixed Ron with a quizzical gaze, as if she had not thought of this before. "You're sure Harry's all right with us reading these?""_

Ron coughed nonchalantly and cleared his throat, making himself look very occupied with dipping his quill into the ink. "Well…see…that's a funny story…"

Hermione put down her quill and made the face she made when she was not impressed. "Funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?" she demanded.

"Funny as in Harry doesn't exactly know that I've told you all about this," Ron said all in a rush.

There was a long silence at the table.

_"Ron!_" Hermione finally shouted indignantly.

Rowan glanced over her shoulder and exchanged looks with Arden. "That sound proof spell had better hold," she said apprehensively.

"Look, if Harry finds out that any of you know about the scrolls, or the current situation – " Ron began.

"You should have told him!" Hermione interrupted furiously.

"He would _not_ be happy, Hermione!" Ron warned.

"Well, tough luck!"

"The information I told all of you is strictly confidential, and the fact that I managed to blab to _three_ people – "

"Actually, just one," Arden said helpfully. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Rowan Saw what was going on."

"Sorry," Rowan apologized to Ron bashfully.

"Ron," Hermione began in her reasoning voice, folding her hands together. "Harry obviously went out of his way to provide you with this information, so that we could look into a situation that we are all very concerned about. As both your link to the Ministry, not to mention our best friend, Harry has a right to know that you have shared with others the information that he trusted you with. I'm sure he will respect your decision."

"Or he'll kill me," Ron muttered.

"You're going to tell him about our involvement at the banquet next weekend," Hermione said in a business-like tone, shuffling her papers together. The banquet was on the first of February; it was hard to believe January had gone by so fast. But with waiting for these documents to arrive from Harry, and then spending their nights researching them, time seemed to fly by.

Ron didn't say anything in response to Hermione; best to let her think that his silence meant submission, and drop the subject.

Arden yawned and stretched, slumping over the papers in front of him. "Have any of you even found anything startling?" he asked. "Because I haven't."

"Well," said Hermione. "Let's all recap, shall we? What information have we gathered thus far?

Ron inwardly sighed; he was infinitely appreciative of the organization and help Hermione had given him these past few weeks - she understood his need to _do something, to find something out that would somehow help the Aurors - but Hermione had a bad habit of automatically reverting to teacher mode. Ron smiled as Rowan almost raised her hand to speak. She had, after all, been in Hermione's class just last year. Arden also caught on and nudged Row, grinning. Rowan immediately flushed a brilliant shade of red and dropped her hand._

"Well," Hermione said when no one else spoke, "we've determined that three men, belonging to an organization they called the Dark Hand, were arrested and tried in 1926 for using the Scrolls of Scuro, therefore ultimately causing thousands of Muggle deaths during World War I. We know that others had to have been involved, but only three men were caught, arrested, and tried," Hermione paused to take a breath, and then held up her fingers, counting off the three names one by one, "Draven Cartesian, a wealthy Pureblood entrepreneur. No wife or family. He's on the record as still being in Azkaban prison."

"Pity the Dementors are gone," Ron growled.

"Cartesian was assumed to be the ringleader, because of his high social standing, and the fact that he was the most forward of the three during their trial," Hermione explained. "He didn't even make an attempt to deny what they had done. In fact, it says here that he seemed incredibly proud."

"Then there was that one fellow with the funny name," Rowan spoke up, sifting through some files.

"Ademon," Hermione said immediately. "Caius Ademon. Cartesian's business partner. Also Pureblood, also very wealthy."

"That name bothers me," Rowan suddenly said, frowning. "Something about the name…"

"Maybe it's the fact that if you put a space in there, his last name would be 'A demon'?" Arden suggested wryly.

"Well, yes, but…" Row furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, "that's not it…"

"Caius Ademon died in Azkaban, in 1934," Hermione continued, reading off her notes. "He left behind a son, Galen, and his wife, Marisa."

"What happened to the wife and son?" Rowan asked in interest, still in deep thought.

"Well, his wife also died shortly after Caius was sent to Azkaban," Hermione said, her expression thoughtful, "and curiously enough, when Galen got older he was arrested and sent to Azkaban."

"Like father, like son," Ron muttered.

"Galen Ademon also died in Azkaban, in 1956. But the peculiar thing is that these files don't list the charges he was tried for. There's very limited information about the case."

"I assume Galen was trying to pick up where Daddy left off," Ron said darkly.

"Did Galen have a family?" Rowan asked in a vague sort of voice. Her eyes were very focused, yet distant.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I haven't found any information that suggests that."

"Hmm," said Rowan. She fell silent after that.

"And then there's this guy," Ron said, glancing down at the file he had been poring over. "Eamon DeWitt."

"Did you find anything more about him, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Only that he was working for the Ministry of Magic during the First Great War," Ron said in disgust. "He was probably reading the scrolls right under their noses. And he got off scott free, the lucky prat. DeWitt claimed that the other two had threatened his family and had forced him to co-operate with the Dark Hand's plans, and due to lack of evidence that suggested otherwise, the Council of Magical Law believed him and were forced to let him go. There's nothing else on record about him after that, so he must have stayed out of the spotlight." Ron tapped his quill against the table, looking pensive. "You know, speaking of names, 'DeWitt' bothers me."****

"I know," Hermione answered, chewing her bottom lip. "There's something familiar about it, isn't there?"

"Yeah…" Ron drifted off into a yawn, and then shook his head vigorously, trying to stay awake. He glanced around at his companions; Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed, Arden had all but fallen asleep at the table, and Rowan still had that contemplative, distant look in her eyes.

"Well, I say we call it a night," Ron said with a heavy sigh.

Arden sleepily rose from the table, and accidentally knocked off a few files as he did so. Hermione made an impatient, disapproving noise. Rowan finally snapped out of it and leapt out of her chair, crouching down to pick up the files. Arden smiled gratefully and extended his hand to help her up.

"Thanks," the Muggle Studies professor said, pulling Rowan to her feet. A dreamy sort of look came over Rowan's face for a second. Arden smiled quizzically, waiting for Rowan to release his hand.

Rowan blinked and abruptly let go of Arden's hand, her cheeks flushed. She shoved the folders into Arden's arms, looking extremely embarrassed. 

"Well…um…goodnight!" she said hastily, and then hurried up the stairs. Arden watched her run up the stairs and turn left on the landing. He looked back to Ron and Hermione as Rowan disappeared out of sight, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Is something wrong with her?" he asked in concern, gesturing up the stairs.

"I don't know," Ron said innocently. "Maybe you should go up there and ask." He and Hermione exchanged knowing smiles.

Arden looked at the two of them, puzzled. "I really like both of you guys," he said slowly, "but sometimes, you're sort of strange. In a good way. See you in the morning." He grinned, and then also started up the stairs.

Hermione turned to Ron, smiling. But he already had his back turned to her, and was cleaning up the cluttered table with swift movements of his wand.

"I thought I'd feel better if we looked over this stuff," Ron said abruptly, "that you know, we'd make a connection or find something new, something to help. But it's pointless," he said in defeat. "We haven't found anything that the Ministry doesn't already know about."

"Well, we've only been looking through it for a little while," Hermione pointed out, "and we really haven't gone through that much of it, if you think about it." She hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to be comforting or practical and honest. Practicality seemed to win out. "But Ron, really, Harry did warn you that we probably _wouldn't_ find anything," she said gently.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you're right. Still…I thought that maybe…"

"Well, we'll continue going through it, and see what we find," Hermione said optimistically. "You never know."

"Yeah," Ron agreed half-heartedly.

"And you're going to tell Harry that we're helping you," Hermione added adamantly.

"Sure," Ron lied, collecting files and books into a neat pile and Banishing them into his room. The pile rapidly floated up the stairs and out of sight. Ron and Hermione slowly followed the floating documents. Names and dates swirled around in Ron's tired mind, something nagging at him as he climbed.

"Wait!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, flinging out his arm to stop Hermione's ascent up the stairs. She started and immediately stopped, looking at him curiously.

"DeWitt," Ron said, his eyes blazing. "I know where I've heard that name." He sounded excited and furious at the same time.

"Really? Where?" Hermione asked in interest.

"DeWitt," Ron explained angrily, gritting his teeth, "was Narcissa Malfoy's maiden name."

---------------------------------------------------------------

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Oooh! Didn't see that one coming, didja? Oh. You did? Well…um…in Gr. 12 Calculus, you not only have to learn how to take the derivative of a function, you also have to learn how to take the derivative of the derivative! Oooh! Didn't see _that_ one coming, now did you?!

And now, a little poem about reviewing:

Reviewing makes me happy,

It's as fun as can be!

Reviewing is a wonderful thing to give

From you to me!

Reviewing's really swell,

It makes me a cheerful lass.

And if you will not do it,

You can kiss my little – 

Oh, look at the time, I have to go! Review, please! ^_^


	16. Confessions and Visions

**Author's Notes:** Okay, totally and completely off-topic, but for any other Canadians who read this….I found a copy of Cross Country Canada! My friend had it on floppy disk, and I was playing it hard core for the past week, which is why I haven't updated in awhile. God, I love that game. It's the most old school educational game you could ever find. Premise of the game: You're a trucker trekking across Canada trying to pick up commodities, and every now and then there's a crisis like you pick up a hitchhiker and he steals your asbestos or you forget to eat for awhile and you pass out in your truck and get in an accident. *Sigh* I miss Gr. 6 computer games. Now all I have to do is find Math Circus and my life will be complete.

***

The dark-haired head in the fireplace was very still, and very silent.

The owner of the head had taken the fact that his trust had been betrayed very well. In fact, after he had shared his fear of Mad-Eye Moody burning both him and Ron alive for blabbing, Harry had seemed almost relieved that Hermione was involved now. Harry and Ron both knew that Hermione had always been the bright one; no doubt Harry was hoping the same thing that Ron was…surely Hermione Granger could figure out the mystery of the scrolls? True, Harry did not know Rowan Richardson or Arden Roberts…but he trusted them because Ron trusted them.

If anything, the worst news that Harry must have received that night was the fact that Draco Malfoy's grandfather had been a part of the Dark Hand over sixty years ago.

Harry's features were contorted in anger at hearing of his old nemesis' possible involvement. "So," said his head dryly, "what have we learned?"

"That Malfoy and his dirty, rotten family are involved when _anything goes wrong?" Ron answered, leaning against the fireplace in the staff common room, his hair messy and the sleeves of his robes rolled up to his elbows. It was about an hour after Arden and Rowan had left them, and Ron and Hermione had still not gone to bed. Getting a hold of Harry had been a long and difficult process, but the familiar, scarred head had eventually turned up in the fireplace. Then Ron had told Harry everything – about Rowan, Hermione, Arden, their research, DeWitt…everything._

"But Eamon DeWitt died many years ago," Hermione offered. She was sitting in a large, stuffed armchair by the fireplace, and looked very small compared to it. "Malfoy would have barely even known him enough to be influenced or – "

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but when did we start making excuses for _Malfoy__?" Ron asked irritably. He was extremely tired._

Hermione looked crestfallen, and a bit offended. She pursed her lips together tightly and folded her arms, preparing herself for a fight with Ron, if necessary. There were dark circles under her eyes, standing out on her pale face. She too was very tired, and tended to get even more bossy and/or annoying when she was. "I'm only _saying_ that it's not a very helpful connection…we already knew that Malfoy and his family were involved with the Death Eaters and _Voldemort…it's no surprise that Narcissa's father was in with the Dark Hand."_

"Damn, I wish the Dementors were still in Azkaban," Ron abruptly said for the second time that night. "So that at least Malfoy's parents would be suffering right now."

"That's a horrible thing to wish on anyone, Ron," Hermione scolded him. "And they're probably suffering anyways…the Dementus curse does the job." She involuntarily shuddered.

There was a long silence in the room. The fireplace crackled, but Harry showed no signs of discomfort, despite the fact that his head was engulfed in flames. Ron ran his hands through his hair; after being by the fire for so long, his red hair was beginning to smell of wood, fire, and smoke, and in his tired stupor he fancied that his head was on fire.

"So what point are you trying to make, Ron?" Harry asked presently. "That Draco Malfoy's the one who's resurrected the Dark Hand?"

"It doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it?" Ron answered. He looked pointedly at Hermione, leaning forward in the enormous armchair in front of the fireplace. She still looked unsure.

"Last I heard of Malfoy, he had skulked out of the country after his parent's trial," Harry said pensively. He paused, contemplating this. "You know, Hermione, it really _isn't_ that far-fetched. His grandfather was involved…and we haven't heard any word of Malfoy in almost eight years. It's too much of a coincidence."

"He could have been travelling around, looking for the scrolls, for all we know," Ron added.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in the armchair. "Whatever happened to your theories about Stark?" she asked.

"That's just it. Malfoycould be the brains behind the operation," Harry answered. "Stark's just his…"

"Pawn?" Ron suggested.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat."

"I…well, I _suppose..." Hermione replied doubtfully, "…but…it's just that I can't see Malfoy as the brains behind anything," she confessed. "I just can't. Especially not of this ancient organization which is dealing with very advanced Dark magic. Really, can you imagine Malfoy trying to figure out these scrolls?"_

She did have a point, Ron admitted to himself.

"But we've all seen what Malfoy _is capable of," Harry said grimly._

Harry, too, made a good point. There had been no doubt in any of their minds that Malfoy had willingly participated in Voldemort's final plans of murdering Harry, and possibly Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers, at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy had been in deep with the Death Eaters, and everyone had known it. But he and his wife had continued to put on the "charitable, respectable members of society" front. They had played the game until the very end, even keeping Draco at the school that Voldemort so loathed. Draco had been the perfect inside source, of course. And Dumbledore had been noble enough to believe in Draco Malfoy, and let him stay.

Malfoy, of course, had gladly helped his father in getting Lord Voldemort into the school at the end of seventh year.

To Draco's dismay, of course, the plan failed. His involvement had resulted in the death of Malfoy's favourite professor and house head, rather than Harry, Ron, and Hermione's demises. The three of them had triumphed over the Dark Lord, and Draco Malfoy and his family were left in very deep trouble.

Every single Death Eater was put away in Azkaban, despite frantic pleas and claims of being under the Imperius curse. Snape had seen to proving that each one of them was acting of their own free will, by masquerading as a Death Eater for some time. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been sentenced to life in Azkaban prison.

Their son, however, had been a different matter. Rather than playing the Imperius card, Draco had relied upon the sympathy of the Council of Magical Law. Malfoy had never been very intelligent, but he had always been clever and sly, as well as a very good actor. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been a minor and basically an orphan at the time, but the Council took pity on Draco Malfoy. They believed his story of being forced by his father to pass information to Voldemort and the Death Eaters from within the school. Draco claimed that he was not forced to do such horrible acts through Imperius, but by his father's threats. Everyone had been a witness to Lucius Malfoy's condescending bullying of his son at some point in time, so the story had been very believable.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione, however, had known it was a load of dragon dung. They could just imagine the sick smile of perverted pleasure on Draco's face when he had told his father that he could get Voldemort into Hogwarts. And then there had been the cases of all of the Muggle-born students that had been hurt or killed during those dark times. Only Malfoy would have had access to information about where their families had been hiding…and they could never forget what had happened to Collin…

But there had been no proof. So while his parents were sent to Azkaban, Draco had escaped with merely a slap on the wrist. Parentless, tail between his legs, he had left the country as soon as was possible. Thankfully, no one had heard or mentioned Draco Malfoy since.

Until now.

"Has anyone at the Ministry made the connection to Malfoy's grandfather?" Ron asked.

"No," Harry admitted, shaking his head and making the green flames around it dance. "DeWitt isn't a very common name, I'll admit…but no one really thought to link Eamon DeWitt with the former Narcissa DeWitt."

"Well, tell the boys at the Ministry they're doing a bang-up job, then," Ron said sarcastically.

"Me and Diana will – "

"Diana and I," Hermione corrected absently, lost in her own thoughts.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Diana and I will investigate this lead personally – it's very interesting, but Malfoy isn't going to be very easy to find or link to this - but meanwhile, not a word to anyone, understood? Not even your young little helpers, okay?" Harry sighed heavily. "Ron, I respect your decision and all, but…for something that only a few select people were meant to know…this is getting out of hand."

Ron knew he looked and sounded as frustrated as he felt. "There's just too many secrets!" he exclaimed vehemently. "I just…I can't…" he faltered, and looked to Hermione.

Harry and Ron shared a secret language of their own that was quite different from the connection Ron and Hermione had. The former partners and best friends only had to look at each other, and Harry knew that Ron had kept his promise and not told Hermione that the scrolls were hidden at Hogwarts. Harry smiled a strained sort of smile in relief.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. "What was that?" she demanded, gesturing to the two of them.

"What was what?" Harry said innocently.

"_That. That look."_

"What look?" said Ron, a bemused expression on his face.

Hermione made an aggravated noise through gritted teeth. "I _hate it when you two do that to me," she muttered passionately. Feeling particularly cross, Ron prepared to shoot back a sarcastic comment._

"I hate it when you two leave me out like that," Hermione finished, shoulders slumped. Now she sounded hurt more than anything. Ron felt his annoyance with her evaporate.

"We're not leaving you out, Hermione," Ron said gently, "it's just…some things…come on, you can't be angry. We've already told you loads…"

"Hey, if anything, I should be the one complaining. You and Ron are a lot more…er, shall I say intimate, than Ron and _I_ will ever be," Harry joked half-heartedly.

Ron felt the tips of his ears begin to grow hot. He quickly leaned against the fireplace again with his back to Harry, so that his best friend couldn't see his reddening ears. "Listen, there's no point in squabbling right now," he said sensibly. "We're all tired, and cross, and tired, and everybody hates Draco Malfoy right now. So let's all just…sleep on it. All right?"

Hermione stretched out on the armchair and stood, stifling a yawn. "I do believe that's the most practical thing you've said all day," she said in agreement.

"All right," Harry said reluctantly, seeming to not want to end the conversation. "Diana and I will check up on Malfoy, and you guys continue your research. We'll touch base at the banquet this weekend, agreed?"

"Agreed," Ron echoed.

"Harry, take care of yourself," Hermione said. The familiar words of advice seemed to have become her mantra where Harry was concerned.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said with a slight smile. "I know. You too, okay?" He gave her a stern look that spoke volumes, his eyes sweeping over her and probably noticing how pale she was looking lately. _Lack of sleep, Ron reminded himself, too afraid to admit anything different._

"Yes, Harry," Hermione answered, almost impatiently. She seemed to be getting sick of people telling her to watch her health.

"Look, Hermione…" Harry began, searching for appropriate words. "Ron's a prat for breaking his word to keep everything confidential, and I'm going to get skinned alive by Moody when he finds out that I've told Ron things I shouldn't have, and Ron's told _you_ things _he shouldn't have…"_

Ron scowled at him from the corner.

"…but I'm glad you're with us on this, Hermione," Harry finished. "I'm…I'm getting kind of worried," he muttered, "and I don't feel so damned confused and helpless now that you're with us."

Hermione looked as if she was overcome with emotion. She positively glowed at this speech which, coming from Harry, was the highest form of praise that could be given. 

"Thank you, Harry," she said, trying not to become emotional, but sniffling nonetheless. "I won't let either of you down. You can trust me with this," she promised.

"I know," Harry answered simply. "Well, I'll see you both this weekend. Maybe things will make more sense then."

"Hopefully," Ron replied.

As Harry prepared to disappear, Hermione suddenly called out, "Wait!" She impulsively knelt down and bent her head into the fireplace, kissing Harry's forehead.

Ron again felt that strange twinge of jealousy he had felt when Hermione had all but thrown herself at Harry at Percy's wedding. Perhaps the feeling was still a remnant of earlier days, when a deep, ugly part of him had resented Harry for being the hero, and had been automatically possessive over anyone he cared about for fear that they would end up caring more about Harry than they cared about him. In the darkest recesses of Ron's mind, those childish, long-suppressed fears still lingered: that his mother would adopt Harry and love him more than she loved Ron, that all of his friends liked Harry more than they would ever like him, that he would even lose Hermione to the brave, handsome, saintly, famous Harry Potter.

Because as she kissed Harry in the fireplace, Ron realized something; his Hermione loved Harry.

And then all of those thoughts and silly fears were dispelled forever in an instant, as Ron realized something even more important – that Hermione loved both of them equally, but that the love she had for Harry was very different than the one she had for Ron. Hermione loved Harry like she would love a very dear brother. In fact, Hermione loved Harry just the same way Ron loved Harry; except that Ron would never admit he _loved_ Harry, because that was just _not_ the term most men used to describe their feelings for one another. But he knew it, and Harry knew it, and so did Hermione; and for a split second, everything was right with the world, and the famous Hogwarts trio was truly bonded together once more.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione choked out, standing and walking over next to Ron. He wasn't exactly sure what had caused this sudden display of affection and emotion on Hermione's part, but Ron immediately put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

Harry smiled – a genuine smile, none of that forced or strained nonsense – and disappeared with a pop. 

***

"This is really _fascinating_," Hermione said breathlessly, poring over a large, dusty volume in the staff common room. It was Friday night, a day after they had spoken to Harry in the fireplace, and their best friend's words seemed to have inspired Hermione to throw herself into her research before the banquet Saturday night.

Ron, who had decided he had earned a break, sighed heavily from the couch he was lying on. "It'd better bloody be fascinating, because if Dumbledore ever finds out that I took books from his library without permission, he'll kill me. And then possibly fire me. So that my ghost will wander the castle forever, knowing that he's jobless," Ron replied wryly.

"Oh, Albus wouldn't mind," Hermione insisted, turning a page. "I still feel badly about keeping secrets from him, but…oh _wow, look at this!"_

Arden and Rowan, sitting side-by-side on the opposite end of the table, briefly looked up from the file they were sharing. Over time, Rowan's shyness around all of them, especially Arden, seemed to be slowly ebbing away. It was now the wee hours of the night, and Rowan's messy ponytail had completely fallen out. Her copper hair - which was glowing a fiery orange due to the light of the fire - was wavy and tousled, and fell to her shoulders. She had taken off her glasses to read, and in the firelight, her freckles stood out on her fair skin. The bashful Divination apprentice was actually quite pretty. And never before had she reminded Ron so much of Ginny.

Hermione held up the ancient book she had been reading, with its yellowing pages and worn cover. _A Collection of Lost Myths and Legends_ was stamped onto its spine in faded gold lettering. Reluctantly, Ron had snuck up to Dumbledore's office at dinner that night and had grabbed a few volumes for Hermione, who had taken a sudden interest in the mythology behind the Scrolls of Scuro. They all knew that Ron would find books in Dumbledore's library that would never be allowed in any other library, for public eyes to see. Already they had found a wealth of information on the scrolls. No doubt Dumbledore was also doing his homework.

"They have a sample of an unknown language," Hermione said excitedly, pointing to a jumble of strange, spiky figures on the page, "which they say many early legends about the scrolls were written in." She scanned the page and immediately summarized its contents for the group, which she'd become very talented at doing. "It says that few professional linguists have been able to translate this language, and none have ever managed to discover how it is spoken aloud – accents and emphasis and all that, you know. Apparently it's very complex. Ron…" Hermione's eyes lit up, and she clutched the book excitedly, "I think this is Scurian."

"Scurian?" Arden asked doubtfully.

"You know, Scuro's language," Hermione explained impatiently. She scanned the contents of the page again. "Oh, I wish I had taken more courses in ancient languages, it would be _so_ interesting to study this…"

"Does it have the translation of that paragraph?" Rowan asked, craning her neck to see the book.

Hermione's eyes darted to the next page. "It's a poem," she announced, skimming the words, "very roughly translated, of course. They aren't even sure if it's entirely right." She murmured the words of the poem to herself, and then her eyes widened. She wordlessly pushed the book towards Arden and Rowan. Ron reluctantly rose from the couch, stretching his long limbs and walking over to the table, bending his head to read the translation along with the two young people.

_In times forgotten they were written,_

_Placed under lock and key.___

_Spread cross the borders of many lands,_

_Spread cross both earth and sea._

_In their words dark magic was poured._

_When spoken, the world shall see,_

_A dark hand unleashed to crush it's foes,_

_And set our people free._

"A dark hand unleashed to crush it's foes…" Ron and Rowan muttered to themselves at the same time.

"So then that's where the name came from," Arden said in awe, reading the book over Rowan's shoulder.

"Yes, yes, but don't you see?" Hermione said in excitement. "This means that there's hope that they can be destroyed!"

"No, Hermione," Ron began, sighing, "they can't be, I've told you – "

"But the poem!"

 Ron furrowed his eyebrows, re-reading the poem. It had nothing to do with being able to destroy the scrolls, as far as he could see. He shook his head. "The Aurors - trained professionals - have tried and tried," Ron replied in a pained voice. "We've wasted so much time trying to destroy the things. It just _can't be done."_

"Just because _you_ can't do it," Hermione said softly, with a small smile, "doesn't mean it can't be done."

Ron started; his own angry words from sixth year, repeated to him by Hermione with such confidence and love in her voice, sounded completely different. Ron felt almost sheepish remembering that incident; and now the roles were reversed. Ron was convinced something couldn't be done, and it was Hermione who insisted that it could be. Ron returned the private smile. Perhaps it was time he took his own advice.

"Did I miss something here?" Arden asked curiously.

"Shh," Rowan hushed him, a smile also on her face as she watched the two.

"Ron, read it again," Hermione insisted, pushing the book towards him. "Don't you see? It's not the scrolls themselves, but the _words that contain the Dark magic. All along, you've been trying to destroy the _parchment_ – and there's probably some sort of magic protecting that too – but it's the __words you want to destroy. They're the core. Do you understand?"_

"Not really," Ron confessed. But he stared at Hermione's flushed, excited face and wide eyes, trying to process this nonetheless. The words were the core…Ron furrowed his eyebrows, beginning to understand. He suddenly felt a surge of excitement and relief take hold of him. It was a long shot, and most definitely an abstract concept – how did one go about destroying words? – but it was worth pursuing. It _could work. He didn't quite know how, but it could. _

"Hermione, I could kiss you!" Ron exclaimed.

Arden snickered and Hermione went very red.

"We'll tell Harry about it," Ron continued eagerly. "You just might be on to something. I'm not sure what…but it's all we have right now."

"Excellent," said Arden, leaning back in his chair, "we're _finally getting somewhere."_

"Ron, you have to let us come to the banquet," Rowan pleaded in her timid way. "We're a part of this, too."

"I know," Ron said apologetically, "but Moody doesn't know that, and if he finds out, he'll have both mine and Harry's heads."

"Hermione gets to go," Arden pointed out wryly.

"Ah, but Hermione's my date," Ron grinned. "If you want a date with me too, Roberts, you're just going to have to get in line…"

Arden rolled his eyes but laughed; a warm, happy sound. It was rare to hear laughter during their serious, late-night researching sessions. Rowan smiled to herself and bent her head, absorbed in the file she was reading once more.

"I just want to be able to give Dameon Stark a piece of my mind," Arden continued, glowering at the fireplace. "And maybe a piece of my fist, too…"

"Ron," Rowan suddenly said, looking up with a rare, alert look on her face. "Who were Dameon Stark's parents?"

Ron's forehead creased in thought. "Aristocrats, weren't they? No, wait…er. They…uh…I…I haven't a clue," he confessed.

"That's odd," Rowan remarked softly, looking down at the file. "I haven't been able to find anything on his family either."

"Perhaps he was an orphan?" Arden suggested.

"An orphan go on about Pureblood status like that?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "I doubt it."

"So either Harry wasn't very thorough in getting us information on Stark…" Ron began.

"…or there _is_ no information," Rowan finished.

"Odd," Arden said, frowning, "that an election candidate's history hasn't been combed over and picked at…if not by the Ministry, then at least by the papers. The _Daily Prophet_ loves digging up dirt on politicians and their family histories."

"Stark's been giving them enough controversial news to print as it is," Ron pointed out dryly. "They don't have to do digging to get a story on him. But this is very suspicious…first, this thing about Malfoy, and now Stark seems to have sprung out of thin air."

Suddenly Rowan went very rigid, and her eyes glazed over. Her jaw went slack. She slowly rose from her chair, carrying herself in a very different manner. When she spoke, it was in a harsh, cold, voice – nothing like her own. Her words were jumbled and indistinct. Ron and Hermione froze in surprise; no one dared to breathe as they listened, trying to catch her words.

"He had a son…the name…"

"Rowan?" Arden called cautiously, moving towards her. He outstretched a hand slowly and carefully. "Rowan, snap out of it."

"…playing with the future…I can't see…"

"Rowan," Arden said, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. Ron abruptly stood, but Arden motioned for him to sit down and stay still. "Listen to me, Rowan. Come back. Come on…"

"Names…names…"

"Rowan," Arden's voice was urgent now.

"…Hermione, don't…" Rowan murmured, her voice sounding more like her own now, "…don't, Hermione…it's not him…" She was not speaking to Hermione, though; she faced a window, and seemed to be speaking to someone invisible.

She suddenly gave a violet jerk and her eyes flew open. "Harry!" she cried in a completely different voice.

"Row!" Arden said anxiously, clapping his hand down on her shoulder. Rowan physically snapped out of it and stumbled, falling into Professor Roberts. She blinked several times and then jerked away, embarrassed. She was breathing fast, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Rowan, are you all right?" Hermione asked in concern as she and Ron unfroze and hurried over. Ron tried to lock away all of what he'd caught of Rowan's mutterings for further use. He had no doubt that Rowan had just had a real vision. Harry's description of Professor Trelawney's one true prediction back in third year still lingered in his mind.

"I'm fine," Rowan muttered, humiliated. "I'm so sorry if I gave you a fright…I just can't help it…"

"It's all right, Rowan," Ron assured her, "this is good, remember? You said you couldn't See anything about the scrolls, and now – "

"But it wasn't about the scrolls," Rowan said, shaking her head, "I…I don't know what it was about…too many different things, all at once."

"Why did you call out Harry's name?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I don't know…I can't remember…" Rowan closed her eyes, concentrating hard. "Something about names…names…his name." She opened her eyes, looking excited but shocked. "His _name!"_

Row looked around as if she didn't know how to show them what she'd discovered, and then she pulled out her wand. It was long and thin and frail, much like its owner. Her hand trembling, Rowan wrote a name in the air with her wand. It remained there, winking at them, in sparkling, gold, letters.

_Ademon__.___

As if in a trance, Rowan waved her wand, and the letters rearranged themselves. Arden, Ron, and Hermione were silent as they reorganized themselves into a new name.

_Dameon.___

"It's…it's a coincidence," Hermione said in disbelief. But Ron knew that even she had to admit that so many coincidences piling atop each other had to mean something.

"He had a son. Galen had a son," Rowan explained, taking a deep breath.

"…Dameon Stark," Ron said fiercely, catching on.

Hermione reached to touch the shimmering gold letters. "He changed his name…oh, _why_ didn't I see it? It was so obvious…Ademon, Dameon…" The letters disappeared at her touch.

"That's why Dameon Stark's records don't exist," Rowan said, breathless. "There _is_ no Dameon Stark. It's an identity Galen Ademon's son must have invented for himself after Galen was sent to Azkaban."

"How could he possibly get away with that?" Arden asked incredulously. He was watching Rowan carefully, as if she was going to collapse on them.

"Money," Ron spat. "Ademon's family had loads of it. Money can buy you out of a lot of things."

Arden's eyes kept darting over to Rowan, not in fear or shock of what she had done, but worry. "Hey Rowan, are you sure you're okay…?"

"I'll be fine in a second," Rowan muttered dismissively, embarrassed.

"Ademon and DeWitt…" Hermione murmured to herself, still slow to believe in their theory. Hermione preferred facts to wild guessing and coincidences.

"Stark and Malfoy," Ron echoed angrily. "They're continuing on what their grandfathers couldn't finish."

The room was heavy with silence as Hermione, very pale-looking, sunk into a chair.

"I think," she said seriously, "that we need to have a little chat with Dameon Stark tomorrow."

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I'm a horrible, horrible, person. I honestly tried for this not to be a cliffhanger, really, I did. It's not as much of a cliffhanger as it _could have been! Please, please, don't hurt me. I'm just addicted to sweet, sweet cliffhangers. It's a disease, dammit…_

Okay, I have to know, did anyone guess the Ademon-Dameon thing? Because I thought it was a pretty bad word scramble on my part. I was so expecting everyone to be like "What the hell do you take us for?" but no one said anything last chapter and I was very thankful. However, if you saw through my thinly veiled attempt to rip-off JKR's Tom Marvelo Riddle thing, please let me know. Be honest now. My feelings won't be hurt. …Much.

By the way, thank you very much to the reviewers who pointed out a few flaws in my last few chapters…yeah, referring to Harry as the Boy Who Lived from his POV _does_ sound pretty stuck-up. I won't do it again. ^_^

And now, the Cross Country Canada theme song!

Do, do, do doodleooooooo! Do, do, do doodleooooooo! Do, do, do doodleooooo, do do do!

You probably all think I'm crazy by now. But then you were probably all like, "Hey, tell me something I don't already know from the last 15 chapters."


	17. The Banquet

**Author's Notes:** So who saw The Matrix Reloaded? What the hell was that movie about? I mean, don't get me wrong, I really liked it and everything…but most of the movie was like *whoosh*…right over my head. I think it's one of those movies where I have to see it about four times to fully understand it. I watched the first Matrix twice in one night, and still didn't get it, so my friend had to explain it to me, and I'm _still not 100% sure what's going on. I'm so slow. And my author's notes are so pointless. There'll be more story-related notes at the end of this chapter, I think. The chap's quite long, and I think more happens in this chapter than in the past few chapters combined. Maybe it'll be like the Matrix, and you have to read it twice to get it. I would recommend that. ^_^ Review twice, too…_

***

Harry Potter fidgeted uncomfortably.

Milling about the spacious, elegant hall in which he stood were the rich and the famous, the high-ranking and the powerful. These were the social elite of Britain, with their expensive dress robes and confident gaits.

Marble statues, which moved to bow to important peoples, lined the corners of the hall. Small, round tables were scattered around, floating candles above the white tablecloths making the tables look warm and inviting. The Ministry's Department Heads, including Percy, Mr. Weasley, and Nick Foran, were clustered together in the midst of a political discussion, all wearing identical robes of steel grey, their business attire. Polite female laughter tinkled in the air as a group of influential men in high positions attempted to amuse a flock of women. A group of wealthy-looking people swept past Harry, daintily holding slender glasses of champagne and socializing before the meal began. Classical music – played by floating, musicianless instruments in the corner - floated across the room to where Harry stood, feeling very out of place.

At his side, only his partner's stiff posture indicated that she was slightly uneasy. Otherwise, the expression on Diana's face was one of casual disinterest as her dark eyes swept over the banquet hall. Her gaze was seemingly placid; but Harry knew that she was really taking in all of the details around her with sharp accuracy and precision, committing them to memory. It was something that Harry had also learned to do as an Auror, and which now came as second nature.

However, it was not his surroundings that Harry was taking in at that moment, as he should have been; it was Diana.

Feeling stupid, Harry tore his gaze away from his partner and leaned against the white pillar behind him, waiting for Ron and Hermione. Why was he staring? It wasn't as if Diana looked any different than she always did on that particular night. Despite the fact that they were attending a Ministry banquet, she had not gone to much trouble to make herself look any different than usual – her short, black hair framed her face in thick layers, and the bronze tan she had picked up in Egypt had gradually faded to a mere healthy glow. Her features were devoid of make-up as usual, save for her crimson lips; although Harry had a feeling that that had nothing to do with make-up. Yet the plain, black dress robes she was wearing had a certain elegance to them that made her look quite pretty indeed. They were made of a soft, silk sort of material that tended to cling to Diana's rather nice form.

Harry tore his eyes away, trying not to blush like a teenager, as he realized he was staring again. It was lucky that Diana was busy looking around, or no doubt she would have noticed and they would have had one of their awkward moments. They were few and far between, but Harry hated those uncomfortable moments. Harry didn't want to hate anything about Diana.

Yet how, exactly, _did_ he feel about Diana? This had been a very grown-up kind of subject that Harry had put off thinking about for some time. But now, uncomfortable and in need of something to occupy his thoughts, Harry tentatively explored the question.

Well, he thought she was brilliant, for one. Harry would be the first to admit that he had never been great shakes at any of his subjects at school, save Defense Against the Dark Arts, for obvious reasons. But Diana was a genius at Potions, and he admired that greatly; she had been making more progress on a potion to aid the Scroll of Malady victims than some of the professional Unspeakables working on it. She even had the skills to teach the difficult subject to students, an ability which Harry already admired in both Ron and Hermione, but that he himself was sadly lacking. Any time Harry tried to speak in front of a large group, his tongue got all heavy, his mouth was filled with cotton, and his palms became sweaty. It wasn't that he wasn't smart enough to teach, or not confident enough in himself; he just hated being the centre of attention.

That was another thing about Diana; she seemed confident in herself, and usually was. Deep down, however, she could be insecure at times, and for some reason, Harry liked that. He knew about her insecurities because she had told him. Harry felt quite pleased knowing that he was one of the only people whom Diana trusted enough to let down her defenses around and really talk to. He could talk to her, as well; there were no awkward silences or insecurities there. They just…talked. They both had had rotten childhoods, and it was good to talk to someone other than Ron - who had been showered by the love of his enormous family all his life and could never properly understand - about growing up with the Dursley's.

Plus, Diana was funny. She had what Hermione called 'Harry humour'; a dry, sarcastic kind of wit that Diana had too. And it was always worth joking with Diana Drago to be rewarded with a rare smile, or an even rarer laugh. The two of them had a certain dynamic together when they were teasing each other, which Harry was convinced he wasn't imagining. And then there were moments in which Harry was sure that something would happen, that the electricity between them would translate itself into something more; but it never did.

They were a good team, good partners, good friends. But, Harry realized, he didn't want Diana as a friend or a partner. He wanted more. Harry straightened against the pillar, realizing that this was a very mature thing to admit. As Hermione would say, he was on the road to self-actualization. Harry wasn't quite sure what self-actualization was, but it was quite a good feeling.

This wasn't a schoolboy crush based on looks and popularity and a few butterfly-causing smiles on the Quidditch pitch. Nor was this a school_girl crush-turned-relationship, which never really lived up to the romantic expectations of said schoolgirl, and only disappointed both parties. The feelings that sometimes came over Harry when he was particularly close to his partner were based upon teamwork, honesty, respect, and real, open trust._

Harry could have pulled a Ron and started mentally proclaiming his love for his partner right then and there, but he felt that was going a bit too far with things. He'd leave the star-crossed lovers thing to Ron and Hermione. But Harry Potter had just admitted to himself that, for lack of better words, he had feelings for Diana Drago. And this, he felt, was a great accomplishment on the road to self-actualization.

"Potter."

She rarely called him by his first name. Harry grinned to himself; he kind of liked it, though, when she called him 'Potter'.

"What are you grinning about?" Diana asked in amusement, snapping Harry out of it this time. He shook his head to clear it and grinned lopsidedly at her.

"Just remembered something funny," Harry answered, shrugging nonchalantly.

Diana lowered her voice, "Oh well, good, I'm glad _one_ of us is having a good time," she said. Impatiently, she scanned the room again. "Where the hell is Stark?"

Harry sobered as he remembered the reason they were there; to get information, and to keep an eye on Dameon Stark. The last time he had spoken with Ron and Hermione, that night in the fireplace at Hogwarts, he had been informed of Malfoy's possible involvement in the entire scroll affair. Still, in Harry's mind, that did not rule out Stark. Diana may have been skeptical about his suspicions of Stark, but she hadn't been as slow to accept the possibility that Malfoy was involved. She knew Draco Malfoy from a brief run-in during her days as a student at Durmstrang, and through reputation.

Hermione thought that Malfoy was not capable of handling the Scrolls of Scuro. Harry was convinced that Malfoy was capable of anything. One thing he had learned, the hard way, was to never underestimate Draco Malfoy.

"They're here," Diana announced as Ron and Hermione appeared amidst the crowd of aristocrats. Both looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt, which re-assured Harry somewhat. Hermione was looking pretty in dress robes of pale blue, and Ron at least somewhat distinguished in navy. Spotting Harry and Diana, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and all but yanked her through the crowd towards them. They obviously had something very important to say.

"Harry," Hermione said breathlessly as they approached, being dragged by Ron. Closer up, Harry could see that her face was paler than usual, and her eyes looked sort of glittery, as if she had a fever. Forgetting what she was about to say, Hermione blinked and stared, long and hard, at the woman next to Harry.

"Diana!" she finally blurted out in recognition. "Good heavens, I didn't even recognize you with your hair all short and – " Ron squeezed her arm and Hermione fell silent, looking embarrassed.

"What's up?" Harry asked anxiously, searching his best friends' faces.

And then he heard it; a cold, confident drawl which sent shivers up the Boy Who Lived's spine.

"Well, well, _well_…"

There was no hesitation; Harry recognized the voice straight away. And he felt his blood begin to boil.

Malfoy.

The four of them whirled to meet the owner of the voice, suddenly feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been poured on them. Harry's skin crawled as he looked into the smug face of Draco Malfoy. His platinum hair was neat and slick; the candle-light made it shine, as if his hair was made of plastic. His pallor was still pale, and his sneer still haughty; but there was a sort of hollow emptiness in Malfoy's eyes which either indicated barrenness, or a great loss. A moment later the emptiness was gone, however, as the eyes glittered with malice.

All in all, Draco Malfoy had not changed much in the past eight years.

Suddenly it all came back to Harry in a whirlwind of images and smells and an odd rushing sound in his ears – Cedric's body, and the bodies of so many others. Dean, Collin, Susan. Death Eaters Apparating into the castle. Finding out Professor McGonagall was tortured. The sick realization that Voldemort was in the dungeons. Harry, Ron, and Hermione starting down the dungeon steps. Snape, dead. The sickening smell of Voldemort's body, dead and sizzling…

Harry felt an all-consuming, fiery hatred flow through him as he faced his old nemesis. Malfoy had been responsible back in seventh year. He could now be responsible for the sickness of millions of Muggles.

But somehow, Harry's voice was calm and cool. "Malfoy."

The pale man had grown in height, at least; he now towered over Harry quite a bit, his crimson robes all too reminiscent of blood.

Like Collin's blood covering the staircase in sixth year, sticky and dark.

They had said that it was an accident, that Collin had somehow fallen down the stairs and cracked his head open. But then why had Malfoy been there when they'd found Collin? Perhaps Malfoy hadn't intended to kill the small fifth year, but he _had intended to hurt him. And now Collin Creevey was dead. Harry's vision swam, and he saw red._

"Ah, what a lovely little reunion," Malfoy said silkily, his voice full of concealed malevolence. "The disgrace, the Mudblood, and the fallen hero. Nothing better to do these days than patrol a banquet, _Potter?"_

Draco spat out Harry's last name as if it had a vile taste in his mouth. It was nothing at all like the teasing, friendly way Diana called Harry by his last name.

Malfoy's eyes were now drawn to Diana, standing staunchly at Harry's side with a sort of smirk on her face. No doubt she was remembering her last encounter with Malfoy, which had ended rather painfully for Draco. But Draco seemed oblivious to that incident, or he didn't remember; his eyes raked over Diana appreciatively, and he gave Harry's raven-haired partner a sick smile. Harry abruptly felt the hatred flowing through him settle in his stomach, becoming a churning ball of abhorrence.

Malfoy's interest in Diana seemed to dwindle as she continued to smirk at him, as if silently laughing at her own private joke. Draco Malfoy did not take kindly to this, and his smile turned into a look of annoyance. "Do I _know_ you?" he demanded, irritated.

"No," responded Diana sweetly. The last time her and Draco Malfoy had met, many years ago, she had ended up kicking him in a rather painful area.

Harry began to wonder how Ron could have possibly stayed silent for so long, and glancing at him, he knew. Ron was so furious that he couldn't make a sound. "You – " Ron managed to choke out, shaking with rage, "how _dare_ you show your face here?"

"I was _invited, Weasley," Draco spat, rolling his eyes._

"I'm surprised you have the guts to show yourself after you ran off with your tail between your legs and all," was all Harry said, his voice still surprisingly calm and collected. Inside, he was a tumultuous mix of rage and hate. Cedric, Dean, Collin, Susan…he had no proof that Malfoy was responsible for their deaths; all but Collin had been killed and/or tortured by Death Eaters. It was very possible, however, that one of these Death Eaters had been Malfoy's father. Or that Malfoy himself had given them information on how to find them and their families.

"I was cleared by the Council of Magical Law," Malfoy drawled, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on the trio. "I have been travelling Europe, for your information, residing in more…_civilized countries."_

To Harry's shock, he saw Hermione reach within her robes. She did not draw her wand, but he knew her fingers were clutched tightly around it. "Give me a reason, Malfoy," she said, her voice shrill and shaky. "I don't care _who_ you were cleared by; give me a reason and I'll give you something worse than what your parents got."

Both Diana and Ron looked quite impressed with this bold speech. Malfoy pressed his lips together tightly, finally affected by this blow. "Don't you _dare_ speak of my parents, Mudblood," he hissed. "You're not worthy enough to even speak their names…"  
"We have you, Malfoy," Ron suddenly said triumphantly. "You're through. It's just a matter of time before we get enough evidence to convict you." Hermione seemed to snap out of it and put her wand back, looking surprised at herself.

"Oh, is that so?" Draco replied in amusement, reverting back to enjoying himself. "On what charges, may I ask?"

"Don't play dumb," Ron said angrily, "you dirty – "

"Ah!" a warm, pleasant voice suddenly said. It belonged to a handsome man in his thirties, wearing olive green robes and a winning smile. The dark-haired man came to stand next to Malfoy, perfectly at ease, still smiling. "Draco, you made it. Excellent." He looked around at them all, basking them in his flashy smile. "Friends of yours?" he inquired of Malfoy, who was smirking at them all superiorly. "Draco is an old friend of _mine," he explained generously, "who has charitably donated much…support to my campaign."_

This was, of course, Dameon Stark.

"Save it, Stark," Ron said harshly. Dameon blinked and looked taken aback. "Stop playing games. We know."

"Quiet, Ron, not yet…" Hermione murmured, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Ron seemed to fight an inner struggle and then gave up, content to glare at both Stark and Malfoy with such venom and hate in his eyes that Harry almost shuddered. This was _not like his best friend. Never before had he seen Ron so full of fury._

"I don't believe we've met," Stark said to Hermione instead, ignoring Ron as he held out his hand and gave her his winning smile. "Dameon Stark, at your service."

Hermione stared at the hand as if it would burn her. She did not touch it, only looked at him with anger almost equivalent to Ron's. Harry began to get a bit intrigued and excited; Ron and Hermione had evidently stumbled upon something, something good. Perhaps they could prove Stark and Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Hand.

"Dameon Stark," Ron repeated, laughing bitterly.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, trying to tug him away. "Let's go." Harry's eyes met hers in silent agreement; the four of them had to get away to speak privately, preferably before one of the trio killed Malfoy.

"Yes, let's go," Ron said to Hermione, though he was staring down Stark and Malfoy. "I'm not sure I can stomach Malfoy and _Ademon for much longer, anyhow."_

Harry had no idea what Caius Ademon – one of the men, he knew, who had been in the original Dark Hand - had to do with anything, but Stark faltered. Even Dameon Stark could not disguise the fleeting look of panic and surprise that flickered across his face. But he quickly changed it into one of bemusement. Before Stark could respond, Ron turned on his heel and walked away from both of them, pushing through the socializing crowd. Harry, Diana, and Hermione quickly followed. Yet Harry couldn't let it go. He briefly turned back to Malfoy.

"You killed them," he said shortly, venom dripping from his voice. Draco knew exactly who Harry was talking about. "This isn't over, Malfoy."

Harry spun around before Malfoy could respond and followed his three companions.

***

Ron Weasley made his way to the door and pushed it open with his shoulder into the crisp, clear February night. He waited for Harry, Diana and Hermione to follow him into the Ministry courtyard and then shut the intricately designed, glass doors behind them. A quick glance around the frigid, starry night revealed that they were alone. Taking a deep breath of cold air, Ron slammed his fist into the wall.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed.

"That – " Ron yelled out every single dirty name he could possibly think of for Malfoy, and then proceeded to do the same for Stark. He hated them. He abhorred them. How could they _dare stare him in the face and pretend when they were planning to eventually kill Muggles? Planning, perhaps, to eventually kill Hermione?_

Ron let his arms fall to his side once he'd exhausted his vocabulary, feeling empty. He expected Hermione to lecture him or something on letting Stark's real last name slip, or for using several inappropriate four-letter words, so he turned towards her like a guilty child. However, to his surprise Hermione was busy seething, and was paying no attention to him.

"I wanted to kill him!" she blurted out, folding her arms against the cold. "I was going to kill him, if he had given me an excuse, I _would have killed him…" She took a deep breath shakily, shivering in the frosty night._

Hermione had never wanted to hurt, never mind actually _kill_ someone. It was a mark of how much she hated Malfoy that she would even dare to say this. Ron moved next to Hermione and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him for warmth.

"I did too, Hermione," Harry reassured her, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists by his sides, until his knuckles turned white. "But that's not going to get us anywhere."

Ron thought that Diana, not knowing their history with Malfoy, would perhaps be a little bit taken aback by this behaviour. But instead, she only commented disgustedly, "What an ignorant little prat. No wonder he's 'supporting' the likes of Stark. He's even worse than I remember him."

Ron suddenly liked Diana a whole lot more.

"What's with you two?" Harry asked, searching Ron and Hermione's faces. "What did you find out?"

Ron opened his mouth to tell Harry about Rowan's vision; but all of a sudden it seemed very silly and coincidental, just as Hermione had originally thought it was. He knew that Moody wouldn't arrest anyone based upon a vision that a kid training to teach Divination had had. They couldn't do anything without cold, hard evidence. Ron was in the middle of trying to decide how to phrase what they had discovered without putting too much weight when Hermione spoke instead.

"Oh Harry, you and Ron were right!" she burst out. "It's Stark and Malfoy…seeing them together tonight…it _has to be the two of them, it's not just a bizarre coincidence any more. Why else would Malfoy have come back to the U.K.?"_

And Ron was reassured once more.

They told Harry about Hermione's theory after reading the Scurian excerpt, and then about Rowan's vision (with numerous interjections by Diana, who was furious that Ron had blabbed to Rowan and Arden, and even more enraged that Harry hadn't told her about it). They finally came to the part about Caius Ademon, and Ron seemed to run out of steam. He looked to Hermione to explain the last part, but she was still shivering violently in the February cold, her face ashen and her lips blue. Ron mentally kicked herself for allowing her to wear those blue dress robes, which were made out of an airy kind of material that did not look very warm.

"What else?" Harry asked slowly, still letting this all sink in. "What's this about Ademon?"

Ron thought of the best way to break it to him, but ended up stating bluntly, "We think that Caius Ademon had a grandson, who must have happened to mysteriously 'disappear' after both his father and grandfather wound up in Azkaban. And if you re-arrange the letters in Ademon, it spells Dameon."

Harry said nothing, but Ron somehow knew exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps because Ron was his best friend, or perhaps through their Auror's bond. But Ron could almost see the words burning in Harry's memory – _Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort._ Stark must have been a fan of the Voldemort's, Ron thought in disgust.

"What exactly does that prove?" Diana asked skeptically.

Harry's voice was faint and distant. "Diana likes facts…evidence…" he said. Ron was not quite sure if this was directed at him or if Harry was talking to himself.

"What exactly does that _prove?" Ron repeated in disbelief. He started counting things off on his fingers. "We find out that one of the men involved with the Dark Hand years ago was Malfoy's grandfather. Then we find out that another one of those men could very well be Dameon Stark's grandfather, seeing as we could not find a bloody record on 'Dameon Stark's' family history. Both Stark and Malfoy are Pureblood, Muggle-haters. The Dark Hand suddenly re-appears at the same time that Stark suddenly becomes popular, and Malfoy suddenly returns to the U.K. And then we find them chumming around in there!" Ron wildly gestured to the building they had just come out of. "Is __that enough evidence for you?"_

Diana sighed impatiently. "I _see your point Weasley, and I'm not saying that I don't believe you. I'm only pointing out that random coincidences and some precognitive kid's visions aren't going to hold up in a court of law."_

Ron opened his mouth to argue this, and found that he had nothing to rebut.

"Wait, that's not _totally true…" Harry said slowly, having fully absorbed and recovered from the news about Stark and Ademon. "I'm sure I've seen cases where Seers have been used to testify in court."_

Hermione winced. "Rowan won't like that one bit." She shivered violently again, and Ron began unconsciously rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up. There was silence for a brief moment as everyone turned things over in their minds and considered their options.

Hermione broke the silence. "I'm absolutely freezing," she announced, teeth chattering. She pulled away from Ron and wrapped her arms around herself again. "I'm sorry, I have to go back inside for a bit before I turn into a Popsicle."

"A what?" Ron asked absently, still lost in his own thoughts.

Hermione gave him a rather strained-looking smile, her lips looking almost purple against her ashen face. "Never mind. Come back in when you're finished talking Auror talk, will you?" She began to walk towards the doors and then paused, as if debating whether to say something or not. Finally she gave a long-suffering sigh and blurted out, "And Harry, will you _please do something about that…that __thing on your face before you come back in?"_

Diana stifled a laugh. Harry blinked, as if trying to figure out what Hermione was talking about, and then grinned faintly and rubbed his chin. "Weren't you going inside?" Hermione threw her hands up and stomped away, muttering to herself.

Ron failed to see her suddenly stumble as she hurried up the steps. He failed to notice her pause at the doors, as if short of breath, small fingers curling tightly around the doorknob. He didn't see Hermione open the door and disappear inside, arms crossed over her stomach.

"All right," Ron continued, unaware, "so you really think they could use Rowan to testify?"

"Even if they can, that alone won't be enough…" Diana warned them.

Ron closed his eyes and thought hard. "If you get some people to look into Stark's past deep enough, I'm sure that they'll find some empty holes in his history. We couldn't find _anything about him ourselves," Ron said, his eyes flying open. They lit up and he began to get excited. "I mean, he _had_ to have made a mistake somewhere…you can't just fashion a new identity for yourself without leaving some evidence behind – "_

"But you know what this means, don't you?" Harry interrupted grimly. "Taking it to the next level would mean getting Moody and the rest of our boys involved. Which also means blowing your cover, Ron. We're going to have to confess we told you where the scrolls were hidden, and that _you blabbed to Arden and Rowan."_

"I did not _blab to either of them," Ron retorted defensively._

Diana punched Harry's arm. "Oh yeah, by the way, did I mention thanks for telling me about that?" she said sarcastically. But Ron thought she looked rather hurt, if that was possible.

"Well, it's not like I have a choice," Ron said glumly. "We were going to have to tell Moody eventually."

Harry sighed and stared at the cobblestone street beneath his feet. "All right. I'll break it to him gently after the banquet. If he hexes me, you take over," he told Diana solemnly.

"I'm so sure Mad-Eye's going to hex you," Diana replied. But she sounded faintly unsure of herself. Personally, Ron wouldn't put it past Moody. He wasn't called _Mad-Eye for nothing._

"Let's go back in, then," Ron advised, stomping his feet to stay warm. "I'm almost as cold as Hermione looked."

"And Malfoy?" Harry asked, spitting out the name in revulsion.

Ron felt the fiery hate well up in him again. "We'll try to ignore him and Stark," he decided through clenched teeth as they walked up the steps and stopped in front of the doors leading to the hall. "But we'll all keep a close eye on the both of them. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Harry said reluctantly, reaching for the elegant, brass doorknob.

He yanked on it. The doors didn't budge.

Looking puzzled, Harry tried again. The doors still didn't move. Ron reached out and tried the other doorknob, but to no avail. He scratched his head.

"What in Merlin's name…?" Ron began. 

"Maybe they're frozen shut?" Harry suggested. It was quite cold, after all.

"But Granger got them open okay, didn't she?" Diana asked, eyebrows knitted together.

"I bet you it's Malfoy," Ron abruptly said angrily. "Decided to play a little trick on us, I suppose."

"Dirty, rotten, little wanker," Harry muttered under his breath, jiggling the knob a few extra times for good measure. He gave up and pulled out his wand. "_Alohomora__!"_

Diana tried the doors. They still didn't budge. "Don't you think it's a bit below Malfoy to be pulling stupid schoolboy pranks on us?" she asked.

Ron doubted anything was below Malfoy. He whipped out his own wand. "_Frateretto__!"___

Harry swore when nothing happened. "I'm going to break it down," he announced.

"You'll only hurt yourself if it's sealed by magic," Diana warned.

Harry sighed in defeat. "Open sesame," he tried half-heartedly. Ron snorted despite himself. He had to admit, it was a pretty ridiculous-looking situation.

"_Open sesame_?" said a high, skeptical voice behind them. "Are you sure that's a _real_ spell?"

It was Sophia Foran, evidently late for the party; either that, or she had only just worked up the nerve to come. She wore elegant, grey robes, and her blonde hair was pulled back tightly, making her look very bossy and business-like. Yet the grey dress robes also made her look very small, and although her jaw was set and her expression was one of superiority, her eyes were nervous and insecure, as if she wasn't sure if she belonged there.

And suddenly Ron knew exactly who she reminded him of - Hermione.

But not the Hermione whose shoulders he had just had his arm around. Sophia Foran reminded him of the Hermione Granger he had met on the train in first year – the bossy, annoying, know-it-all who was really just as insecure as the rest of the first years, if not more, and desperately needed a good friend or two.

But by the time Hermione had reached Sophia's current age, she had matured way beyond that eleven-year-old Ron had met on the train. Ron liked to think that Hermione had become the person she was now because of him, and Harry. Sophia, however, seemed to be stuck hiding inside her little shell of bossiness. It was the same sheltered, safe shell Hermione had been stuck in ever since Ron and Harry had left her after graduation.

Sophia, Ron decided, needed a Ron and a Harry.

Nick Foran's daughter haughtily climbed the steps and took out her wand, pushing past Diana, who briefly looked like she wanted to strangle Sophia, but Harry gave her a look, and she just pursed her crimson lips together tightly.

"Is it locked? How odd," Sophia said breezily, tapping the doors with her wand. She cleared her throat. "_Alohomora__!"_

Confidently, she turned the doorknob. It made the annoying clicking sound locked doors often make. Sophia's face fell.

"Step aside, Foran," Diana said, sighing loudly and drawing her wand. Harry and Ron followed suit.

"Together?" Harry asked, looking to the other two Aurors.

"I think that will do," Ron nodded. "What spell?"

Diana hesitated. "Apertoporta. It's tricky to do all at once, though."

"Remember the wrist movement," Harry reminded them both, sounding scarily like Hermione.

Sophia scurried out of the way as the three Aurors, quite business-like, simultaneously took a step backward. At the same time, they cut through the crisp air with their wands, performing a complex wrist motion.

"_Apertoporta__!" the three of them chorused._

The doors burst open.

***

Hermione Granger leaned over the toilet and was violently sick.

Coughing and trembling, she finished and weakly raised her head. Flushing the toilet, she slowly left the stall, emerging into the very fancy - and mercifully empty - restroom of the Ministry banquet hall.

She hadn't really felt sick outside with Ron, Harry, and Diana; only cold, icy cold that penetrated into her very bones until she couldn't stand it any more and had had to come inside. Despite the cold, her forehead had been on fire, incredibly hot compared to the rest of her body. It still felt hot to her touch. The nausea and the pain had only started when she had been coming back inside – it often crept up on her like that, hitting her like a tidal wave and then disappearing as quickly as it had come. But at least now the nausea was passing, even though she still felt dizzy and weak. Hermione hadn't been able to keep much down the past week or so.

Peering into the mirror, Hermione made a face at the image that greeted her. Her lips were bloodless and her face was deathly pale. There were dark circles under her eyes, which looked vacant and sort of feverishly shiny. Hermione cursed herself for never learning any of the beauty spells that Lavender and Parvarti had dutifully memorized. They would have come in handy now.

Hermione had no doubt that she was slowly getting very, very ill. And she knew perfectly well why. But Ron could not know. He had enough on his plate.

She was amazed he hadn't noticed yet, what with the keen sense of observation he seemed to have picked up as an Auror. _Still_, Hermione reminded herself, _love sometimes makes people blind to things like this._

Maybe it was the fever, but for some reason, Hermione giggled to herself in the mirror.

Shaking her head to clear it, Hermione splashed some water on her face and then ran her hands under hot water, feeling her fingers almost ache with the warmth it provided. Feeling a little bit better, Hermione took a deep breath and left the restroom, walking down a corridor, stepping back into the ballroom…

…and into a sea of sympathetic stares.

Hermione felt her skin crawl, and tried to ignore the whispers and looks of pity that followed her across the banquet hall and over to a secluded corner where she could wait for Ron and Harry. She knew why they were looking at her like that, and it wasn't due to her ashen face or the rings around her eyes. She doubted that anyone in that room even knew about the Scroll of Malady.

It was because of Charles.

It had only been a year ago that she had come to the Ministry Christmas party with Charles Griney. Or, the man she thought had been Charles Griney. Everyone there now knew she had really been dating a murderer and a Death Eater. Everyone there knew how Donovan Owens had taken advantage of her, and them. So now everyone there was looking at Hermione with annoyingly sympathetic looks.

A group of sophisticated but snobby-looking women near her started talking in hushed voices; obviously they were excited to have found a new bit of juicy gossip to throw around. Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard one woman cluck sympathetically and whisper, "Poor dear."

Hermione really couldn't care less what these people thought of her. But if there was one thing she couldn't stand anyone calling her, even more than a Mudblood, was a "Poor dear".  She could take care of herself. She most certainly was not a damsel in distress, and she was just fine, thank you very much…

Hermione felt her stomach lurch and another wave of nausea wash over her.

Well, perhaps she wasn't just fine.

Feeling the room spin again, Hermione quickly left the main hall and went out into another adjoining corridor. Out in the dim hallway, she leaned against the wall, briefly enjoying the feel of the cool marble against her feverish neck. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. The dizziness and the feeling as if she was going to faint would pass.

"One…two…three…" Hermione breathed, shutting her eyes.

"Oh, excuse me," a diplomatic voice said as footsteps stopped in front of her. Feeling embarrassed, Hermione opened her eyes, praying that it was not Stark…or Malfoy…or worse, Ron…

Blinking away her dizziness, Hermione saw with relief that it was only Nicholas Foran, the Head of the Department of Magical Law. He smiled apologetically.

"My apologies. I was looking for the restrooms," he explained.

Hermione smiled weakly and stopped leaning against the wall, smoothing her dress robes. She knew, both from meeting him last year and from an experience in the Headmaster's Pensieve, that Nick Foran was a very important and dignified person. "They're around the corner," she said politely.

"Ah, thank you," Foran replied gratefully, but he did not make a move to go. He furrowed his eyebrows and stroked his beard, which was black flecked with grey, and made him look very distinguished paired with his olive dress robes. "Aren't you Ronald Weasley's young lady?"

Hermione felt a blush rising to her pale cheeks at being called Ronald Weasley's young lady. "Yes, sir."

Foran smiled. "Ah, I thought I saw you with him earlier. Nicholas Foran," he said, extending a hand.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione replied, shaking the hand. It was warm and moist, and the grip was firm. "We met last year, actually," Hermione admitted. She silently cursed herself. Why did she just bring up last year? Charles – no, Donovan - had introduced them…

"Oh, did we?" Foran said dismissively. He didn't mention Charles, curiously, but switched the subject. "You teach at Hogwarts with Weasley, do you not?"

"Yes," Hermione said, now a bit wary as she eyed his hand, which still gripped hers. "Arthimancy."

"Are you returning to Hogwarts after tonight, then?" asked Foran. Hermione thought this a sort of strange thing to ask, so she did not answer.

"Er…I have to get back outside, to Ron," she said, trying to pull her hand away. Foran did not let go. Hermione felt her heart start to speed up; she had no idea what was going on, but she _was_ sure that she had not just imagined the glitter of malice in Nicholas Foran's eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Foran said with a sinister smile. 

Hermione panicked and tried to pull her hand away with all her might. However, due to her frail condition, it was in vain. Foran calmly pulled out his wand – a thick, polished, mahogany one – and pointed it at her.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded shrilly, trying to get to her own wand. "Let _go!_"

Her wand fell out of her robes and clattered to the floor. Suddenly empowered by adrenaline, Hermione managed to yank her hand away from Foran's. She dove for her wand, just as Foran shouted, "_Imperio__!"_

***

"Where is he?" Ron demanded as he stomped back into the hall, Harry, Diana, and Sophia Foran close behind him. Ron turned and kicked the doors that had been giving them such a problem shut violently. Sophia spotted Joel Landers and a few of the other Aurors she knew from meetings, and hurried over to harass them. Ron folded his arms and angrily glanced around the room. People were beginning to take their seats at the candlelit tables.

"If that slimy git locked us out, I swear…" Ron began threateningly, searching for Malfoy and Stark. Neither of them were anywhere in sight. Ron cracked his knuckles menacingly, narrowing his eyes.

Diana sighed heavily. "Let it go, Weasley. According to you, Stark and Malfoy have better things to do with their time than lock us out of banquets, like world domination and whatnot."

Ron wasn't listening; he was now searching the ballroom for another face. "Where'd Hermione go off too?" he muttered to himself.

"Right here."

Ron spun around to see Hermione standing directly behind him, a sort of vacant expression on her face. Harry peered closely at her and knitted his eyebrows together.

"Er…are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Just tired," Hermione replied curtly.

"Okay," Ron said slowly, turning back to Harry. "Look, we'll sit at Moody's table and sweeten him up, so he won't be so angry when you tell him afterwards. Meanwhile, one of us has to find Malfoy and Stark and find out what they're up – "

"Could we leave?" Hermione interrupted. "I'm very tired," she explained coolly.

"Uh…right now?" Ron asked stupidly, still searching the hall for Stark or Malfoy.

"Yes."

"Hermione, are you feeling all right?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I'm fine, just tired. Could we go back to Hogwarts?" she repeated to Ron impatiently.

Ron sighed, frustrated. "Hermione, Harry and I have to – "

"I want to go back _now_," Hermione commanded. Behind her, Diana took a step backward and her eyebrows shot up.

"Argh! All right, all right," Ron grumbled, nearly oblivious to his girlfriend's odd behaviour. He was too excited at the prospect of seeing Malfoy and Stark go down to notice she was acting queerly. "We'll have to Apparate from here to Hogsmeade, and then get a carriage to the castle from there, though."

"Fine," Hermione said dismissively, taking his arm in an iron grip. "Goodbye," she said to Harry and Diana in a clipped voice as she began leading Ron out of the hall.

Hermione dragged him by Nicholas Foran, who smiled and waved at them both, a glass of champagne in his hand. Ron nodded absently at him.

He failed to see Foran raise the glass to his lips, hiding a disturbing smirk.

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DA NA NA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, a cliffhanger. Sue me. I can't do anything about it. This part of the story becomes so action-packed and stuff that I _have_ to have cliffhangers. There's just no other way. v_v

So I must ask, did anyone see that coming? I was surprised/sort of pleased that not many people picked up on the Ademon thing last chapter, but I'm wondering if anyone saw this. Not to worry, there are many more plot twists in store, yay!

Also, a note to all…some of you seem very confused about anything that happened previous to this story. Just in case you didn't know, this story makes a lot more sense if you read its prequel, _Bury the Hatchet. Just some friendly words of advice. ^_^_

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand review. ^_^


	18. Imperius

**Author's Notes:** Evil cliffhangers and threats about cliffhangers aside, I really hope you guys are enjoying where this fic is going. We're into the action now, ladies and gents. Not much more else to say, except enjoy! Here's to hoping I can get it done before June 21st. 

(Odds: 1000000000000000000000000:1) v_v

***

It was well past midnight when Ron and Hermione finally returned to Hogwarts, and, to Ron's surprise, when they entered the dark and empty castle, Albus Dumbledore was waiting for them. He stood by a flickering torch hanging on the wall, a piece of very smooth, white paper clutched in his wrinkled hands. The torch cast his shadow, enormous and rather menacing, on the wall. Yet the great shadow was bent with age, just like its owner.

"Professor Weasley," said Dumbledore gravely, nodding his head ever so slightly in greeting. "May I have a word?"

"I'm going to bed," Hermione announced flatly.

"Okay, goodnight," replied Ron absently, walking towards Dumbledore with concern etched all over his face. He heard Hermione turn around with a soft swish of her periwinkle robes, and listened to the sound of her heels clicking on the marble tile of the Entrance Hall as she walked away. Once the footsteps had faded, Ron quickly demanded, "What is it?"

"I have received a letter from the Muggle Prime Minister," Dumbledore said solemnly, "informing me that he has ordered all public schools throughout Britain to be closed due to the current epidemic."

Ron stared. "Is that really necessary?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not; the effects of the Scroll of Malady cannot be transferred from one sick Muggle to another. The sickness is not contagious, in the literal sense. But the Prime Minister does not know that."

"Ah."

"This letter," Dumbledore continued, glancing down at the Muggle-made paper, "also advises me to have Hogwarts closed for the remainder of the year, for our own students' safety."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "But…but that's ridiculous! You're not actually going to, are you?"

Dumbledore sighed, but said firmly, "Ron, this school has only closed once before, and that was with the most terrible Dark wizard of our time in its midst. No, I will not close Hogwarts. The Prime Minister fails to realize the…selectivity of the epidemic which he currently has on his hands."

"So the school stays open," Ron said in relief.

"But the Muggle students must be sent home."

"What?" Ron burst out. "But you just said yourself, it's not contagious! There's no reason to send them all home! It's not as if they'll be spreading it to other students! You _just_ said that the Prime Minister doesn't even have a clue what's really going on – "

"But his advice _is_ wise, Ron," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you were a Muggle parent, would you not be suspicious if all Muggle public schools were closed down, and your son or daughter was not sent home from Hogwarts? More importantly, if your child was to become sick for an extended period of time, would you not want them at home, instead of in the care of a stranger?"

Ron was silent for a moment. He had never thought of this in terms of parents and children…mostly he had been driven by the thought of Hermione, always Hermione. He tried to bring himself back to the present conversation with Dumbledore.

"But there's no _real_ threat – " he tried.

"This is true," Dumbledore allowed, "as long as the other scrolls remain safely tucked away here. But the Muggle students must be sent home nonetheless. As for Hogwarts actually closing…_I_ would not allow it, but the School Governors are not quite as enlightened as you and I. They do not know about the scrolls; they believe, as the Prime Minister does, that this is merely a Muggle illness, and I'm afraid that they have more power than I in matters such as these. They are lenient for now, but if in the near future they wish for the school to be closed…I may have to comply."

"You can't let them, Headmaster," Ron begged, "They'd close the school for nothing! Hermione and Diana and Harry and I…we're so close." Without pausing for breath, Ron let it all pour out in a flood of words. "We suspect that the Dark Hand is being lead by Dameon Stark and Draco Malfoy, whose grandfathers were involved during the First Great War…and Hermione thinks she's found a way to reverse or destroy the Scroll of Malady and its effects, just don't send the students home yet, don't cause panic here yet…" Ron trailed off, realizing that he'd practically just confessed everything to Dumbledore. He silently cursed. Perhaps he'd take a leaf out of Dobby's book and start smashing his head against things whenever he let something slip. Maybe it would help silence his big mouth.

Dumbledore, however, did not seem at all surprised. Calmly, he only said, "Yes, Alastor and I are aware of your research."

Ron blinked stupidly. "You are?"

There was a subtle, mischievous edge to Dumbledore's next words. "Contrary to popular belief, Alastor and I _do notice when several files and books disappear from our personal libraries."_

Ron inwardly groaned and mentally slapped himself. He'd _physically_ slap Harry later. Leave it to Harry to obtrusively take things from Moody's office. As if Mad-Eye wouldn't notice.

"But that is beside the point," Dumbledore said dismissively, rolling up the strange white letter from the Prime Minister. "How exactly did you arrive at the conclusion that Mr. Stark and Mr. Malfoy are leading the Dark Hand? And you say that Hermione has made some sort of discovery?"

"Well, not really…just a theory," Ron explained, feeling rather foolish. Dumbledore listened patiently as Ron recounted everything he'd already told Harry and Diana earlier that evening. When he finished, Dumbledore stood very still and very silent for a moment, looking contemplative.

"I do not doubt that, perhaps, Hermione is on the right track," he said slowly, "although I will have to look into her theory further. As for young Rowan's predictions…I feel that, although she may not have yet realized the full extent of her gifts, she may very well be the most talented Seer Hogwarts has seen in many a year. I myself have taken a particular interest in her gifts. Several tests which I had her take in order for her to do her Apprenticeship seemed to reveal a talent for not only Seeing into the future, but also into the past and even objectively at the present; a very rare talent indeed. I do not doubt her visions…and yet, as Diana pointed out, they won't always hold up in a court of law."

The old man paused momentarily, a wrinkled hand rising to stroke his snow-white beard. "And yet something bothers me…Rowan's inability to See anything pertaining directly to the scrolls; her frustration with predicting the future lately, despite the relative ease with which she's done it before. I find it very odd."

Dumbledore lapsed into silence, sinking into his own thoughts. After a few moments, Ron was convinced that the aged Headmaster had forgotten he was there, and coughed loudly. Dumbledore's blue eyes, crinkled and ancient, raised to meet Ron's. "I suggest you get some sleep, Professor," he advised. "Sadly, I lack the gifts that our young friend Miss Richardson has, but I still fancy myself an honourary Seer, if you will. And I have a feeling in these old bones that tomorrow shall be a very eventful day."

These words echoing in his head, Ron gave a little nod of his head to Dumbledore, and headed up the stairs towards his bedroom. He had, however, no intention of sleeping.

***

A blast of icy air slapped Ron in the face as he opened his bedroom window. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the castle, which for some reason felt stuffy and hot tonight, the air heavy and thick with silence as the inhabitants of the school slept, blissfully unaware that anything was amiss, or that some of them could be sent home at any time.

Ron leaned his arm against the window frame, over his head, closing his eyes against the cold air as it rushed into the room. His head was much clearer now, and he could think. Ron carefully separated the many thoughts swirling around in his mind, giving each a moment of pensiveness.

Harry. He considered sending a letter to Harry to demand what had happened after they had left the banquet, and then decided against it. If Harry was in the midst of a conference with Moody, the last thing he needed was an owl flying into the room. Especially a Moody who was aware that Harry had been carrying on behind his back.

Hogwarts closing. The school could not close. It would only serve to create suspicion and panic…and they were so close to getting the Dark Hand, to destroying the Scroll of Malady. If they closed Hogwarts, it would be for nothing.

The students. Wasn't Hogwarts the best place for them, despite what the Prime Minister had suggested? Eccentric or not, at least Madam Pomfrey was a trained nurse. In her care, perhaps they would show some improvement…Ron shook his head and quickly dismissed that hope. All of the sick Muggle children who had gone home for Christmas holidays had not come back, had not wanted to come back. And his classes - Ron knew he had been neglecting the Defense Against the Dark Arts students. He'd given them one too many 'pointless busy work' assignments lately. He silently scolded himself; what was the purpose of keeping the school open if he wasn't teaching the students anything?

Hermione. Ron tried to replay the past few weeks in his mind; he hadn't exactly been paying as much attention to her lately, caught up in his fervent research. Why was he doing all of this, if not mainly for Hermione? Of course, he wanted to help the victims of the scrolls…but it was the thought of Hermione which drove him and made him so passionate about it.

Ron backed away from the window and stretched, staring at the sky. The full moon was bright and provided enough light in the bedroom without having to light the torches. The stars seemed to leap out at him, as they always did on clear, cold nights such as these. He remembered, vaguely, Hermione telling him once that some stars in the night sky no longer existed. They had exploded, perhaps hundreds of years ago, but their light took so long to reach Earth that they could still see them. Ron continued staring at the sky, at stars perhaps long dead, looking into the past. Like Rowan. And like Rowan, he was unable to see into the future, because the light of the stars took so long to reach Earth…

Surprised at himself, Ron shook his head to clear it before he could become philosophical or something. Perhaps he would go visit Hermione, check up on her and all. She had been acting a tad…odd at the banquet, now that he thought of it. And her face…it had been as pale as a ghost's outside.

Ron suddenly felt a chill of something dark and dreadful wash over him. Her face had been deathly pale, in fact. And she had been shivering. The realization hit Ron like a ton of bricks.

If Hermione had become sick, and he hadn't even noticed, he would never forgive himself.

That was when a movement outside his window, on the grounds, caught his eye. Ron leaned forward until his head was sticking out of the window, into the cold night. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ron squinted to be able to see.

His window faced the front of the castle; the lake, the rolling grounds, and the gamekeeper's house were in the distance, as well as the long path leading to the enormous Hogwarts gates. The flash of movement Ron had caught had been on that path. He strained his eyes, watching it. There was indeed something there. And that something seemed to be a person; a tiny figure in light blue, nearly swallowed up by the blackness of the night.

The full moon suddenly burst out from behind a cloud and the moonlight illuminated the tiny figure. It was most definitely female, and she was carrying something. Ron frowned; whatever she was carrying had to be very heavy, because the woman was walking rather strangely, as if every step was a struggle. Every now and then she would stop, as if fighting with herself, and then drag herself on. Ron backed away from the window, preparing to go down and find out what exactly was happening. He briefly glanced back at the woman, whose brown hair got caught up in the wind and swirled around her shoulders.

Ron's heart stopped beating. It was Hermione.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his mind made all the connections in rapid-fire succession: There was a full moon. The chamber sheltering the scrolls only appeared on the full moon. They'd left Hermione alone briefly. And right after that she had been acting strangely at the banquet. She'd left him as soon as they'd returned. Hermione was now struggling with herself outside, and she was obviously not in control.

Ron had been trained to recognize the Imperius curse, and Hermione was displaying all the signs. In that brief second where time seemed to slow, Ron felt white-hot fury boiling within him.

They were using Hermione as their puppet.

Time returned to normal speed, and Ron snapped out of it, his heart resuming its beating at triple it's previous pace. He didn't know where Hermione was going or what exactly she was doing, but he had to act fast, or else both Hermione and the Scrolls of Scuro could be in serious danger. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart thudding painfully against his rib cage, Ron looked wildly around his room for something, anything. His gaze landed on his _Firebolt__ TX._

Ron's hand shot out, and the broom flew across the room to him, as if obeying his very thoughts. The _Firebolt_ did not slow down; instead Ron recklessly hopped onto the broom as it approached him, firmly grasping the slick wood. The broom shot out of his window like a rocket, and Ron quickly yanked the handle down.

He vertically plunged downwards, nearly scraping the castle wall as he did so, the ground rising to meet him faster and faster. Had it been any other situation, Ron would have been astonished at the speed and grace of the broom; but right now, his only thought was to get to Hermione. At the last second, just as the very tip of the broom scraped the damp grass, Ron pulled upwards and shot off like a rocket towards Hermione, the cold air whistling in his ears and causing his hair to blow wildly into his eyes.

Ron urged the broom on desperately as the pale blue figure slowly drew closer to him. He was zooming down the path at a speed unimaginable to him, and Hermione was moving very slowly; but the path stretched across the great expanse of the lawns, and she was still only a speck on the dirt path.

_Faster_, Ron begged mentally, _faster…_

He didn't know what he planned to do. He only knew that he had to get to Hermione and the scrolls, and snap her out of it. As he got even closer, he could see that she was trying valiantly to fight it, but in vain; few people could break out of _Imperius, Harry and Moody being the only people Ron had met who could do it. Ron knew that if he was placed under it himself, he would be completely lost. Ron's grip tightened on the broom._

_Faster…___

Hermione was at the gates. They slowly opened to admit her to the outside world, to the place that was not protected by Hogwarts' shielding magic. As Ron got even closer, he saw Hermione bend down. Her hands, which were clutching a fairly large, golden box, hovered over something on the road. Ron was almost there…he could see the muscles in Hermione's neck muscles twitch as she attempted to weakly fight back, to regain control of herself.

Ron watched in panic as her fingers began to relax, the ornate box slipping from her grip. He was only feet away. Ron abandoned all regard for his personal safety and leaped off the broom, hurling himself forward towards Hermione just as the box slipped from her grasp.

Ron collided with her, grunting as he strained to turn himself around in midair so that he would fall on the road and Hermione would fall on top of him. Ron winced as his back scraped on the gravel of the road and as the back of his neck was ripped open by countless rough, gravel pebbles. Hermione fell on top of him, very stiff and rigid. Ron's heart turned to stone for a split second, but then Hermione rolled off of him and started breathing rapidly, her eyes wide and bloodshot.

Wincing in pain, Ron tried to sit up on the road as Hermione shakily moved towards him. Ron fiercely drew her to him, holding her tightly, pressing her pale, cold cheek against his own. Hermione choked out a sob and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck as he rocked her back and forth, holding her in his arms. Ron breathed deeply in relief; she was safe, and she was herself. The force of their collision must have knocked her out of it. Ron closed his eyes and buried his face in her tangled hair, weak with relief.

It was only then that he remembered the ornate box, and what its contents must have been. The back of Ron's neck stung, and he felt warm blood dripping down his back, but he managed to scramble upwards, gently pulling Hermione up with him. Ron's eyes frantically searched the road for whatever Hermione had dropped the Scrolls of Scuro into, but the golden box holding them was gone.

"Log…it was a h-hollow…log," Hermione choked out. "P-Portkey…they're g-gone…I'm…I'm so s-sorry, Ron…"

"No…" Ron whispered, frozen in fear.

"It was m-my dream," Hermione sobbed, her eyes wild and panicked. "It was my d-dream…they were here, Ron, they were in Hogwarts…I can't r-remember what happened. We were at…at the banquet, and then I was h-here…I couldn't s-stop myself and then I was going into a chamber I-I'd never seen before and he was t-telling me to give them to him…I couldn't stop…I couldn't stop…" she dissolved into tears, her body shaking with.

Ron felt his insides turn to ice, and his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't move for a moment, and then, in a trance, he slowly reached for Hermione and held her to him. He stared into space, his eyes round with fear. He was bloody, exhausted, and weak. But even his exhaustion didn't prevent him from slipping into a state of frenzied panic. The scrolls were gone. All five of them could have been in Dameon Stark and Draco Malfoy's hands right then. Ron had no idea what was required to do to use them…but if the Dark Hand had all five, the Muggles were done for. The stakes were suddenly so much higher. This was no longer an illness they were battling – there was the possibility of death, destruction, chaos…

There was the possibility of an ancient magic wiping out all of Muggle civilization.

Ron couldn't move, act, or think any longer. Numb with fear, or possibly pain, or both, his grip only tightened on a sobbing Hermione. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice was urging him to _do_ something; time had just become critical, he knew. But Ron could only stand there, holding Hermione, wishing Harry was there. Harry would know what to do. Ron shut his eyes against the cold wind, his wrist burning painfully, probably jaggedly torn open by the same gravel he'd scraped his back on. He needed his partner. He needed Harry.

A soft pop behind them caused Ron's eyes to fly open and Hermione to abruptly stop sobbing, clutching Ron fearfully. Ron managed to turn around, only to see a black-cloaked figure remove his hood and stare at them, and then slowly survey the scene before him in perplexed bewilderment.

"Harry?" Ron croaked. It was a question, but Ron was more relieved than puzzled to see his best friend there.

"You called me," Harry replied in confusion, lifting his right wrist, where the mark of the Auror was burning brightly.

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I'm so the Queen of Evil Cliffies. But I feel horrible, I really do. Yet I warned you. The next few chapters – all evil cliffies. The shame. v_v

But, back due to popular demand…A REVIEW SONG!!! That's right everyone, the review song is back and better than ever. I hope you've all seen Moulin Rouge…

**Your**** Song/"Your Fic"**

My gift is my fiiiiiiiiiiiiiic,

…And this one's for you.

And you can tell everybody,

That this is your fic.

It may be 18 chapters, but…

It's almost done.

Hope you don't mind,

I hope you don't mind,

That I put down in words…

That I love reviewers.

You guys rock my world. ^_^


	19. Their Worst Fear

**Author's Notes: **I'm so excited! I just might get this fic done before June 21st! *Does a happy dance* I've got the next few chapters written, though they are in need of muchos revision, and then there's only one or two more chapters after that! So I can enjoy OotP in peace, and you can all stop threatening me with death and/or bodily harm because of evil cliffhangers! Hooray! Go, Silver Phoenix, go!

***

"Rodge!"

"Mmff," was Roger Ramone's muffled reply as he rolled over in bed and buried his face in his pillow. It couldn't have possibly been morning yet; it was still pitch dark outside. He tried vainly to return to the brilliant dream he'd just been having. A Hippogriff had been loose in the school on Halloween, and he and Paul had gone off bravely to fight it. They had just been saving Flora Canter from the mad Hippogriff in the girl's toilets, of all places…

"Roger, wake up you prat! You have to see this!" Paul hissed, yanking the pillow out from beneath his best friend's head and then beating him mercilessly with it. An irritable Roger finally slid out of bed and fell onto the cold, dormitory floor, where he grabbed his emergency pillow (for occasions such as these) out from under his bed and prepared to launch a counter-attack. But Paul had already dropped the pillow and was trying to drag the still-sleepy Roger onto his feet and over to the window.

"What time s'it?" Roger asked in a slurred, drowsy voice.

"Nearly five a.m.," Paul replied, sounding excited.

Elijah McKenzie, one of their roommates (the other, Ryan McNeal, was quite ill and had been away from school for a few months now), was already staring, dumbstruck, out the window at something. Roger felt himself being pushed towards the window rather roughly, and yawned loudly before peering out the window sleepily at what all the hubbub was about. His eyebrows shot up.

Outside, scattered about the Hogwarts grounds, were a number of adult wizards in identical, long black cloaks. They were swarming about everywhere; some were following the long path leading to the gates, others were searching the Forbidden Forest, and still others were performing spells here and there on the rolling lawns, creating brilliant flashes of light which illuminated the dark grounds.

Astonished at this bizarre sight, Roger, no longer sleepy in the least, stuck his head farther out the window in an attempt to get a closer look. It didn't help much, as the wizards were so far away that they appeared only as only tiny, dark figures, but as he blinked away drowsiness, Roger could clearly see that they sure weren't teachers. And he was sure that one of the strange men – a grizzled, older fellow who seemed to be in charge – was walking with a limp. Roger furrowed his eyebrows. No, it wasn't a limp…it looked more like a peg leg…

***

"She's been under Imperius, all right. A damn strong curse, too. Whoever put it on her was quite the powerful bastard. I'm surprised she was able to fight it at all," Owen Darnell said grimly, lifting Hermione's chin to look into her eyes. She stared dully back at him, her eyes dark and unfocused, and her face so pale it was almost translucent. A thick blanket was wrapped around Hermione's shoulders, and she was sitting right in front of a roaring fire, but she still shivered. She had quieted considerably since they had brought her and Ron back into the castle and up to Dumbledore's office. Hermione seemed to have gone into a state of shock.

Harry and Ron were not far off; Harry was pacing the room, and Ron was standing rigidly a few feet away, aching to rush over to Hermione's side. But he contented himself with simply clenching his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his palm. He finally relaxed his grip as Darnell finished his inspection and announced, "But she doesn't seem to be physically hurt at all. The poor thing has just had a bit of a shock." Darnell reached into his robes and drew out a small flask of a copper-coloured liquid. He screwed off the lid and pushed the bottle into Hermione's hands.

"There you are…drink up now, there's a good lass," Darnell said encouragingly. Hands trembling, Hermione slowly lifted the flask to her lips and drank. She immediately started coughing and pushed the bottle back towards Darnell as Ron stepped forward in alarm.

"What sort of potion is that?" Ron demanded as Hermione's coughing eventually stopped and she shook her head, looking slightly more alert and a bit flushed in the face.

The Scotsman smiled faintly, though his eyes were as grave as Harry's looked. "It's not a potion. It's brandy. Better at reviving people than any potion I've ever seen. And it'll do her good…she's frozen solid, she is. It'll warm her up a bit."

Ron nodded and bent down in front of Hermione, searching her eyes. "You all right?" he asked softly.

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded mutely. Ron gently kissed her cheek and then stood and exchanged glances with Harry, as they waited for Dumbledore, Moody, and his men to return.

The last few hours had been only a blur to an exhausted and panicked Ron. He vaguely remembered telling Harry what had happened, and Harry's face going very pale. Then Moody and the other Aurors had suddenly been there, and hands had been guiding both him and Hermione back to the castle, while dark-cloaked figures remained to inspect the grounds for any sign of the Portkey or the scrolls. Ron remembered people talking in low voices, and Dumbledore's office swimming before his eyes more than once; and then Madam Pomfrey had arrived in a bright orange nightgown. After she had cleaned both him and Hermione up, Ron remembered her giving him something to fight his fatigue, although there hadn't been much the hospital matron could do to cure Hermione's current state of mind. That had been nearly an hour ago, and things had slowly begun coming into sharper focus for Ron. But as his senses had returned, so had his panic, fear, and dread of whatever had just happened that night on the Hogwarts grounds.

Darnell had walked over to the enormous window in Dumbledore's office, hands in his pockets, and now returned, sighing. He stooped down in front of Hermione and held a hand to her forehead. Owen shook his head.

"Ron, this woman is sick," Owen said in a low voice. "She's burning up. I'm sure walking around outside in the middle of the night in February probably has something to do with it, but…"

Ron just shook his head at Darnell; he didn't need him to continue. Ron felt so guilty and angry at himself that it was almost making him physically sick. Hermione had been sick for a long time; Ron was sure of that now. But he had been such an idiot – he'd been so excited and involved in their research that he had nearly forgotten who was driving him to do it in the first place. Ron had been so intent on finding a cure for the Scroll of Malady to protect Hermione that he'd failed to notice when Hermione had actually succumbed to the magical sickness.

Harry walked over as Ron felt his throat close up. "She's a Muggle-born," Harry explained grimly to Owen, his voice cracking as he said it. Darnell didn't reply, and Hermione just looked at the floor, avoiding Ron's eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted in a hoarse voice; it was the first thing she'd said since they'd brought her up there. "I just feel…" She closed her eyes painfully and swallowed her words. "Oh my God. What have I done?" she choked out instead, putting a hand to her ashen forehead.

"This is _not your fault, Hermione," Harry said adamantly as Ron swallowed painfully and reached for her cold, white hand. "Do you hear me? It wasn't your fault."_

"And maybe they're not gone at all," Ron suggested soothingly. "Maybe they've found something outside. They _have_ been out there awhile." But even he could not conceal the fact that his voice had no hope in it.

"I tried…to fight it…" Hermione said, tightening her hold on Ron's hand. "I tried…I'm so sorry…Rowan was right, my dream was warning me…" She took a deep, shaky breath, and squeezed Ron's hand until it was painful. "There was the voice in my head, like…like in my dream…telling me to find this chamber, by the light of the moon – "

"The chamber. It only appears on the full moon," Harry grimaced, glancing out at the full moon through the window. "How did you get in, Hermione?" he asked gently, returning his gaze to her. "We had that chamber hidden and protected with every spell imaginable. The professional curse-breakers had a hard time breaking them when we tested it."

"Hermione's better than a professional curse-breaker," Ron said wryly. "She's an Arithmancy professor."

Hermione turned very red and lowered her gaze to the ground. "I just _knew_…the counter-curses weren't so difficult to figure out, and I was so focused on getting in…" she trailed off, embarrassed."The voice kept urging me to do it, to keep going. And then it told me to take them, take the scrolls, and…"

Hermione went into a fit of hiccups as she valiantly tried not to cry again. She was a grown woman, a successful teacher, a mature adult; and yet she had been reduced to a sobbing child by this curse. Ron physically shook with rage; and he realized that his anger was only directed at himself. It was his fault for not protecting Hermione, for not taking better care of her, for failing to notice that the woman he claimed to be in love with was under the Imperius curse. Ron hated himself.

_No,_ Ron thought bitterly, _hate isn't strong enough. Abhor. Detest. Despise. It's your fault she's like this, Weasley. Your_ _fault._

"I - I feel so…ugh…" Hermione continued, shuddering, "like they – they still have a hold of me…that they're still a part of me."

"Who, Hermione?" Ron asked, putting his personal feelings aside for a moment and daring to hope that she could give them some insight into the scrolls' location, before it was too late. "Who put the curse on you?"

"I…I can't remember…what happened right before…I only remember coming back to the castle, that voice whispering that I _had_ to get them, or else…" Hermione trailed off and could only shake her head silently, pressing her lips together to keep from dissolving into tears. Ron stroked her hair with his free hand, feeling even guiltier for having asked her; she was sick, and she was still in shock. The questions would come in due time, but there was no point in making Hermione more upset right now than she already was.

"Where's Diana?" Hermione asked shakily of Harry, perhaps seeking to distract herself.

Harry nodded towards the window. "Out there, with the rest of the Aurors."

"You managed to get in contact with them on such short notice?" Ron said in surprise.

"Quite a few of them, yes. I sent a message to Moody as soon as you had told me what happened. You can't remember?"

"Not much of it. I was so…" Ron shook his head, feeling panic begin to creep up on him again. He was too afraid to even care that Moody now knew everything…about Hermione, Rowan, Arden, and their research. It seemed so trivial now. The scrolls could really be gone. The Muggle world could be in very, very grave danger.

Because there was no reversing the magic once all five scrolls had been used.

"Harry, what the hell are we going to do?" Ron asked desperately, his voice shaking.

"I don't know," Harry replied, his voice hoarse. "I honestly don't know."

"They can't be gone," Hermione whispered. "I'll never forgive myself. They can't."

"It's _not your fault," Harry repeated again fervently, reaching out to hold Hermione's other hand tightly. She tried to smile gratefully up at him and Ron, squeezing both their hands. But it seemed that the muscles in her face were frozen in a look of panic and fear. Ron was sure that the same expression was reflected in his own face._

The three of them were silent for a moment; Ron chanced a glance at the big, ornate clock on the mantle of the fireplace in Dumbledore's office, and was surprised to see it was nearly morning. He couldn't believe that his entire world could be turned upside down in one night.

Ron glanced back at Harry, staring at his former partner. Just the fact that Harry was there, that Harry had come, was a miracle. Ron knew that their bond still existed, though it was now weak. Ron _had been able to Apparate to Harry in Egypt, but he had not felt that his friend was in any distress before he had been told so. That Harry had heard Ron's mental and emotional call for help across the miles that night was astonishing._

Ron shook his head. "I called you," he said to Harry in disbelief.

Harry tried to smile. "And I came."

"They're coming back in," Darnell announced, moving from his station at the window. Harry released Hermione's hand and started pacing again. Ron felt his heart leap into his mouth, and the four of them waited an achingly long few minutes before they heard the tell-tale _thunk__, thunk, thunk of Moody's wooden leg as he climbed the stairs. _

Silently, a group of wizards clad in black cloaks entered the office, followed closely by Alastor Moody, Albus Dumbledore, and to everyone's dismay, Sophia Foran.

"_Who_ let her come?" Ron heard Joel Landers mutter in exasperation as Sophia, looking timid and out of place, scurried over to an out of the way corner. Ron ignored her and instead eagerly searched his colleague's grim faces. Among them were Joel, Jeremy Desiderius, Jameson Howe, Radcliff Mungston, Robbie Murdock, Ian Dion, Diana, and Sirius. And as Ron's eyes lingered on the grim faces of each one of his fellow Aurors, he felt his heart slide down his chest, until he was sure it had landed somewhere in his stomach.

"Did you find anything?" he asked anyway, feeling hope ebbing away every second.

Sirius glanced over to Hermione, a pitying look in his once vacant, sunken eyes. "Nothing," he said gravely. "…They're gone."

Harry swore under his breath and Darnell lowered his head. Ron heard Hermione inhale sharply, and he tightened his grip on her cool hand, until he was afraid he was cutting off her circulation. "You're sure…the Portkey, there's no sign of it?" Ron croaked.

"We only found the footsteps you two left in the ground on the path outside the gates," Moody answered, grimacing. "Whoever set it up was smart, I'll give 'em that…the Portkey couldn't have been an inch away from Hogwarts boundaries. There was no magic protecting the spot." He glanced at Hermione, sitting stiffly in her armchair. "You're lucky you got there in time, Weasley. Had you not stopped her then, she might have been made to touch the Portkey, too."

Ron's stomach lurched, and Hermione let out a strangled sound, leaning back against her armchair.

"So they're gone," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "All five scrolls…are _gone."_

"Our worse fear has come to pass," Dumbledore confirmed solemnly. Ron had never seen the old man look so grave. His words hit each of them like a ton of bricks, and caused the worst sort of silence to descend upon the office, punctured only by the muffled ticking of Dumbledore's old clock.

"So what are we all standing around for?" Ian Dion suddenly said sharply, surprising everyone. In all the time Ron had known him, he had only heard Dion speak a combined total of three sentences. "We're not going to just stand around all day and wait for the bloody Dark Hand to use them, are we?"

"Usually we need some sort of lead if we're going to do anything, Dion," Diana snapped.

"Will you two stop it?" Robbie interrupted, putting a hand to his greying temples. "We don't need this right now."

"Well," said Radcliff Mungston, a dark and wild-looking man around Ron's age. Ron remembered training with him when he and Harry had first decided to become Aurors. "If there's one person that can give us a bloody lead, it's her." He nodded at Hermione.

All eyes were suddenly on Hermione. Her bloodless lips opened and closed, and finally she managed to say, "I'm trying to remember," in a strained voice. "I can't…"

"What do you mean, you can't?" Jeremy Desiderius asked impatiently. The young, auburn-haired Auror had been best mates with Joel years ago, and had most likely become his partner when the two of them had been made full Aurors in Ron's absence from the Order. Ron had been rather fond of the kid; but right then, he felt like strangling him.

"I'm _trying," Hermione repeated. "It's all muddled," she sounded frustrated and impatient with herself._

"Leave her alone for a moment," Ron snapped. He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking with anger…or perhaps it was fear.  "She's just come out of a strong Imperius curse, she's still disoriented, and she's ill. Let her get her bearings – "

"We don't have time for her to get her bearings!" Joel exclaimed anxiously.

"May I make a suggestion?" Sophia squeaked from the corner. "Perhaps if we all sat down, got organized…"

"_No!_" a number of people shouted.

Sirius, Harry, Diana and Radcliff all started talking again at the same time, and then the others eventually joined in, until nearly everyone was arguing. Their bickering echoed loudly in the circular room, and Ron's head began to ache. Only Dumbledore stood apart from the rest of them, quiet. He closed his crinkled eyes, as if in pain.

"_Silence!" Dumbledore suddenly thundered. His strong voice reverberated throughout the room, causing small trinkets and devices scattered on the Headmaster's desk to shake. The voice throbbed in each of their heads and cleared their minds. Everyone seemed to falter in mid-sentence. Like guilty children, the Aurors lapsed into silence and waited for the Headmaster to speak again._

"We are all very frightened right now. And fear can easily lead to anger," Dumbledore said, his voice now quiet yet authoritative. "In fact, right now, our fear is our enemy's greatest weapon against us. We now face a very grave and dangerous situation, yet panicking and bickering have never solved anything in the past. I believe there is still hope; but hope can only be nurtured through teamwork and co-operation," the Headmaster said solemnly. He gazed at them all, boring into each of them in turn with his piercing blue eyes. "Let us remain calm, and examine the facts. The most important element is time. The first question is, how much of it do we have?"

"That box was protected by dozens of charms and spells," Robbie offered after a guilt-ridden silence on behalf of all present. "It would take a very advanced wizard…_days to get it open, at the very least."_

"We're not dealing with very advanced wizards. We're dealing with very advanced _Dark_ wizards," Sirius reminded him. "It'll be open in a matter of hours."

"The rituals," Harry said hopefully. "They can only be performed at night, right? It's nearly six in the morning right now, so they won't be able to perform the rituals tonight. They'll have to wait until sundown tomorrow."

"So we have approximately twelve hours before they're able to perform the rituals and read the scrolls," Ron said bleakly.

"Twelve hours is a lot of time," Moody barked. It was his attempt at optimism.

"Alastor is quite correct. If we manage our time wisely, I believe we still have hope," Dumbledore insisted matter-of-factly. He crossed the room to the armchair in which Hermione was still sitting. "Hermione," the Headmaster said gently. "I am going to have to ask you to try. Try to remember, anything at all. We need to know who was responsible for putting you under Imperius."

"I can't!" Hermione replied in frustration. "There's a Block…or…or something. I don't know if it's magic, or…everything's a mess, everything's muddled. I can't remember what happened before, and what happened during is just…blurry." She shuddered violently.

"What do you think? A Memory Charm?" Moody grunted.

"I doubt it," Dumbledore replied quietly. "It's selective memory loss. She's right; it is most likely a Block."

"We could break it," Jameson suggested carefully. He looked as if she didn't like the sound of his own idea, however.

"No," Ron said immediately and harshly. Breaking a Memory Block was nasty business.

"It was brilliant," Sirius murmured. "They knew the scrolls were at Hogwarts, and they couldn't get into the castle themselves…so they used her to do it for them. They must have seen their opportunity at the banquet…and the Portkey, right outside the gates…"

"But it doesn't make any sense," Diana argued. "They couldn't have just 'seen their opportunity'…this was planned, it had to be. They had to set up the Portkey for _tonight_, didn't they? It was a full moon. This was orchestrated carefully."

"Damn it!" Harry suddenly swore. "They had to have been at the banquet! _That's_ why we couldn't get in those doors. They wanted us out while they performed the Unforgivable on Hermione!"  
_And who was lurking around at the banquet?_ Ron reminded himself, feeling his wrath consume him again. _Stark and Malfoy…_

"Yet how would they have known where to send her? How would they have found out that the scrolls were at Hogwarts in the first place? And about the chamber they were hidden in?" Radcliff mused.

Ron remained silent, a steadfast statue at Hermione's side. Rowan and Arden would not have told. They _could_ not have told. Then again, he had not spoken to either of them about the chamber in which the scrolls had been hidden. Ron breathed again, relieved.

"The Pensieve," Harry said suddenly, looking over in Jeremy's direction. He was standing right in front of the cupboard containing the silver basin. 

"What?" Jeremy turned around and glanced at the stone basin. "What about it?"

"Hermione, you can try to dump everything you _do_ remember into the Pensieve," Harry said, quickly crossing the room and extending his hand to help his friend up. Hermione slowly took it, and Harry pulled her out of the armchair, leading her towards the silver basin. "If there is a Block that means that the memories aren't _erased_…they're just cut off from you. Maybe if you could put them into the Pensieve…it would give us a chance to step back and take a look at things. And you'll feel better once you've gotten rid of everything; you won't feel so muddled or disoriented."

Hermione stared at her old friend, a bit of light coming back into her dark eyes as she dared to hope. "Give it a try, for me, Hermione," Harry pleaded, releasing her hands.

Everyone else was silent, admiring this stroke of brilliance on Harry's part, or perhaps anxiously awaiting its outcome. Hermione reached into her robes – still the airy, pale blue dress robes which she'd worn to the banquet, and which had been her only protection outside in the frigid, February night – and drew her wand. Hesitantly, she put the wand to her forehead and closed her eyes. A heavy silence pervaded the room.

"What's supposed to happen now?" Hermione asked in an unsure voice, eyes still closed.

"Allow yourself to empty all of your thoughts into your wand," Dumbledore coached her. "Let all your memories of the night go."

Hermione frowned and then drew away her wand with a great sigh of relief from the pressure of whatever those thoughts contained. A thin spindle of silver dangled from her wand. Slowly she added the silver thread to the basin, her wand causing the Pensieve's ethereal contents to swirl about. She stepped away, looking exhausted, and Ron quickly slid his arm around her waist and allowed her to lean on him for support. She was breathing quickly, as if out of breath. Alarmed, Ron tightened his grip on her. Jocelyn Coles had been short of breath as well that day in class so long ago, just before she had fainted.

"Do you see anything?" Diana asked as Harry peered closely at the Pensieve. He picked up the heavy stone basin and placed it on Dumbledore's large desk. Everyone silently crowded around to watch.

The images in the Pensieve were short and fleeting. Stark's face swam within its depths, as well as Malfoy's. Then suddenly the scene switched to outside, at night; when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Diana had been talking outside the banquet hall. Hermione's own face appeared quickly, pale and thin – she must have been looking into a mirror. Then there was an empty hallway, and Nicholas Foran speaking with a smile.

Beside Ron, Hermione suddenly sucked in a breath and squeezed Ron's arm very hard. She closed her eyes tightly, as if in pain. Ron anxiously tore his eyes away from her, bringing his attention back to the Pensieve. He had to see who had done this to her.

The images sped up, blurred together. One moment Foran was smiling, the next, he was smirking sinisterly. Sophia cautiously ventured over to the desk, eyebrows furrowed as she watched the blurred scene continue to play out.

There was a simultaneous gasp of disbelief from the people gathered around the Pensieve as in the basin, Nicholas Foran, Head of the Department of Magical Law, took out his wand and mouthed a word that couldn't have been anything other than, "_Imperio__!"_

The contents of the basin returned to being a half-liquid, half-gaseous, swirling substance.

Ron's jaw fell open in complete shock. The group gathered in the office could only stand there silently, dumbstruck. Hermione finally released her claw-like grip on Ron's arm; he was sure there would be a bruise there.

"It's impossible," Sophia Foran finally whispered, taking a step backwards. "She's lying! This is all…all…she _has_ to be lying!" she said shrilly, her voice rising.

Hermione said nothing; she only pushed her cracked lips together very tightly and stared at the ground. Even Dumbledore and Moody looked completely astonished.

"You cannot lie to a Pensieve," Dumbledore said slowly, more to himself than Sophia. The Headmaster looked completely taken aback. "Your memories do not lie…"

"Why?" Moody growled softly, still staring at the Pensieve. "Nick…why the hell would you?"

Sophia's chest heaved up and down. "He _wouldn't_! He couldn't!" she cried.

"Then where is he right now? Why isn't he here?" Joel Landers asked quietly. It was the question they had all been asking themselves, but no one had been daring enough to voice it.

"He's in a meeting! At the Ministry!" Sophia said defensively, looking panicked. "He _wouldn't…" she repeated._

"That was how the Dark Hand must have known the scrolls were here at Hogwarts," Robbie pointed out gravely. "They had an inside source."

"But…_Nicholas Foran…" Sirius shook his head in disbelief._

"The most unlikely suspect…" Dumbledore said to himself in quiet astonishement, bowing his head.

"Well," Moody finally said, collecting himself. "Howe, Murdock, Dion, Mungston, Darnell…I want you to Apparate to the Ministry immediately. Find Nick…find Foran and…" he shook his head, "and take him into custody," he finished incredulously, as if disbelieving the words which were coming out of his own mouth.

"What?!" Sophia screamed. "You can't do that! You have no proof!"

"The proof's right there, lass," Darnell said gently, gesturing to the Pensieve.

"But…but…what if _he was under Imperius, too?" Sophia challenged._

"It's impossible to perform the Imperius curse while under it yourself," Harry murmured from the opposite side of the room, having resumed his pacing. Diana laid a hand on his shoulder as he passed by her and Harry stopped walking, sighing deeply and shaking his head.

"But…but…" Sophia was looking desperate now. "You all know my father, he would _never…" she looked around frantically, and seeing the stoic faces of all those gathered there, she gave a cry of helplessness. Pushing by Joel Landers, she fled from the office._

"Landers, Desiderius, can you find that girl before she does something foolish?" Moody ordered with a sigh, massaging his temples. Joel and Jeremy both nodded, and then quickly followed Sophia. Their heavy boots thumped down the spiral staircase, and gradually faded away.

"Foran's our only lead, then," Sirius said to Mad-Eye, still looking shocked, but prepared to grimly continue on with the business at hand. "Depending on just how in he was with the Dark Hand, he could tell us a lot."

"Drago, how long would it take you to whip up a strong batch of Veritaserum?" Moody demanded.

"Six hours," Diana said automatically. "You have to allow it to sit for two hours before adding the earwigs, and then it has to sit for another four hours after that…"

"We only _have twelve hours!" Ron exclaimed in frustration._

"Get started on it immediately," Moody said. Diana nodded and, with a last glance at her partner, Disapparated.

"Meanwhile, we'll have to try to crack him the old-fashioned way…" Moody continued, glancing over to Jameson, Ian, Radcliff, Owen, and Robbie. "What are you clowns waiting for?" he barked. "I said to find him and make the arrest. I'll be there in a few moments."

The group of Aurors nodded and Disapparated with a sequence of pops, wands drawn. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Moody, and Dumbledore now remained in the office, which suddenly felt small and stifling despite the fact that fewer people remained in it. Ron felt claustrophobic. He understood why Hermione could hardly breathe; their own fear was choking them.

"I have to sit down," Hermione suddenly muttered in embarrassment, breaking the silence. Ron quickly helped her back over to the armchair, which she gratefully sunk into.

"You remember what happened now," Ron asked softly, brushing her hair out of her face. It was more of a statement than a question; he had seen the pained look on her face as she had watched the Pensieve. "You're _sure_ it was Foran? You weren't just imagining – "

"I'm not crazy," Hermione muttered. But she closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead, thinking. "But…"

"You've been through quite a lot tonight, Hermione," Dumbledore interrupted sombrely. "I will not ask you to trouble yourself further. Thank you for all your…co-operation." He shook his head. "Ron, you may escort Professor Granger back to her chambers. She needs rest."

"In a minute," Hermione said, shaking her head and still breathing heavily. "Just let me catch my breath…"

"We'll have to head back to the Ministry," Moody told Dumbledore.

The Headmaster nodded. "I'll accompany you. I want to be there when they…arrest Nicholas. If we have any hope of getting information from him, this has to be handled delicately."

"Let's go, then," Harry said, casting one last, worried look at Hermione. "We've already wasted almost two of our twelve hours."

Ron glanced at them, feeling torn. He couldn't just stay at Hogwarts while the rest of them went back to the Ministry to fight for Hermione's and countless other Muggles' lives. He couldn't just be kept in the dark; he needed to know if Foran was indeed guilty, if they were making any progress, if they had found Malfoy and Stark, and if those two were really behind the Dark Hand.

But then again, he couldn't just leave Hermione either. He had neglected her before, when their research had been all-important to him. He had even failed to notice that she had been under the Imperius curse. He could have prevented all of this, had he only paid a little bit more attention to Hermione that night…

Ron made up his mind; this time, he would choose Hermione.

He took her fragile, white hands in his. "Good luck," Ron said hoarsely to the remaining people there.

Harry nodded to him as Dumbledore and Moody disappeared. Ron's former partner and best friend then took a deep breath and looked to his godfather, who clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"All right?" Sirius said quietly.

"Yeah. Let's go." With a last look at his friends, Harry Potter Disapparated with Sirius Black close on his heels, and Ron and Hermione were left alone, to wait and hope that that group of people could save Muggle-kind from the impending crisis.

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It has recently come to my attention that there are many reviewers who have remained loyal and true to me from the beginning…and others who are just damn hilarious. These fine people deserve shout-outs…and shout-outs they will get. Maybe, one day, if you're loyal and/or damn hilarious, you will get one too.

Phoenix Fan: You have the alliteration thing going on, you got two people to read Slap and one person to read Bury the Hatchet, and you devoted an entire review to getting this shout-out. So shout-out you get.

Araedhel: To the number two fan of Bury the Hatchet, and the number one fan of this fic…thanks for all your honesty and criticism and mocking and the insistence that poor Snape got gypped in Bury the Hatchet because he couldn't have had the purest love for Harry. Way to stand up for good 'ol Snape, and thanks for pointing out my error-filled ways. Cheers.

Trina-k: I think you've reviewed for almost every chapter. Well done. ^_^

LKoK: You want me dead because I keep creating cliffhangers and I think that hey, that deserves a shout-out too. Hooray!

Potty For Potter: Yet another loyal chapter-by-chapter reviewer. Not to mention your name is a clever play on words, and you share my love for Ewan McGregor. Good job!

The Man-Eating Dust Bunny: I love your name.

Moine Weasley: You also review almost every chapter. Thank ye kindly!

Lady knight of kennan: Your random spazzing-out attack in Chapter 17 was humorous and amusing. Cheers.

Fanciful Sovereign: I feel special that I didn't use something which conflicted with your irrational pet peeve. Irrational pet peeves are fun. And you called me cunning! So shout-out for you.

Carlyd: Thanks for reviewing even without a review song. You also made me laugh. "Panic! Panic!" Ah, good times.

Queen-Esther: Not only does your name bring back horrible memories of Chemistry, but then you had to go and predict the Nick Foran thing way back in Chapter 9! You're just all about showing me up, aren't you? Just joking…I kid because I love…

The Madisons: I still have trouble telling the both of you apart, but you both review faithfully, so kudos to you both!

Enelya: You review quite often, and showed interest in Cross Country Canada. Bless your little heart.

That's all, for now…I'm sure I missed many, but there will be more shout-outs to come…thanks to all of you for reviewing, and for appreciating my zany wackiness in author's notes and the like. Seriously, this fic changed and mutated so often, and all for the better, because of your reviews. I especially need feedback for this chapter, so I can revise the next few with your amazing suggestions and get them up ASAP! So keep reviewin', and…uh…insert another inspirational quote here!


	20. Behind the Portraits

**Author's Notes:** Only (by my calculations) three to four more chapters to go! Wow! And I'm speed-writing like a demon. Hooray! For the 21st is fast approaching…

This is the honourary plot-twist-and-turn chapter that is evident in almost every SP fic. Except in this one there's going to be TWO honourary plot-twist-and-turn chapters, this being the first of those two. Please, enjoy. ^_^**  
  
*****

  
Hermione, mercifully, had finally sunk into an exhausted slumber in the armchair by the fire. Ron hadn't the heart – or, quite frankly, the strength – to rouse her and carry her up to her chambers. He could only stand there, rooted to the spot in Dumbledore's now-empty office, staring into the swirling silver depths of the Pensieve and watching Hermione's memories play over and over again. Ron stared as Nicholas Foran's expression changed from good-natured to malicious, his lips curling into a sickening smirk. Ron knew that Hermione had valiantly tried to get her wand back, because the image of Foran suddenly turned upside down in the Pensieve. She had dived for her wand, but she obviously hadn't been able to get to it in time. 

Everything briefly went black, and then the images blurred and dissolved into silver swirls once more. Ron stuck his wand into the basin and stirred it, ready to watch the horrific scene once more. It was just like when Bill had cracked his head open when Ron was six; it had been sickening to look at, yet he had been unable to tear his eyes away.

The sun had begun to pour into Dumbledore's office several hours ago, and Ron could hear the faint sounds of a bustling school beneath his feet. Hours had passed, and the previous night was beginning to slowly seem more and more like a distant nightmare to Ron. Yet he was still unable to look away from the Pensieve.  
  
Perhaps he kept watching the memories in the Pensieve because logically, there was something missing. At first, Ron had thought it was the lack of motive: What did Foran have to gain by helping the Dark Hand? But Ron had quickly ruled out that notion. Foran had everything to gain…wealth, power, and respect. If he did in fact become Minister for Magic, Dameon Stark could offer Nicholas everything and anything. And Nicholas _was_ from a long line of Purebloods. Perhaps Foran really believed in wizard superiority like the Dark Hand did - Nicholas Foran, the Head of the Department of Magical Law, the man to whom Moody and the Aurors reported to, and shared all of their secrets with. It made Ron nauseous.   
  
Ron massaged his temples; he was completely exhausted, but there was no way he would allow himself to sleep. He already hated the idea of just standing by and waiting while the Aurors attempted to arrest Foran and interrogate him, and if Ron fell asleep, he could miss some important news. Part of him wished that he was there, that he could help…but he would not leave Hermione's side, not this time.   
  
Ron shook his head to clear it. He leaned over the Pensieve, supporting his head with his fists and grinding his knuckles into his temples. He was missing something, and he knew it. Much to his chagrin, he had to admit that Sophia was right. Nick Foran couldn't, and wouldn't, do this. Why masquerade as Department Head for so long, if this had been his goal all along? Why act as prosecutor for the Council of Magical Law, and put away Death Eater after Death Eater, if he was only going to betray the Ministry in the end? Foran had worked his entire life to rise to the top in the Ministry of Magic. It just didn't make any sense.   
  
Ron looked back into the Pensieve. Foran raised his arm again; triumphantly said the curse word again. A swish of his olive green robes, and then the image dissolved once more. Ron suddenly went rigid, his heart speeding up.

_Green_ robes.   
  
_An Auror's greatest asset is his power of observation…_Moody's old, familiar mantra repeated itself in Ron's mind. The former Auror closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct the banquet hall in the blackness behind his eyelids, just to be sure. Slowly, the scene re-materialized before him; the creamy white walls of the banquet hall, the polished marble underfoot, and the smooth granite pillars. Ron had been dragging Hermione through the crowd. He didn't remember taking in his surroundings at all; yet there they were, stored in his excellent memory in vivid detail. Ron had shoved aside a woman in canary yellow. He had bumped into a man with a pencil-thin moustache. Ron's eyes had briefly been drawn to Percy and his father, who had been wearing steel grey robes along with the rest of the department heads.

Ron's eyes flew open, and Dumbledore's office drew back into focus before him once more. Nicholas Foran, at the beginning of the night, had been wearing his official grey robes, as was customary of important peoples at the Ministry. The Foran in the Pensieve was wearing olive green robes.   
  
His head spinning from the unexpected twists and turns that night had already provided, Ron rushed over to Hermione to wake her. His heart was thudding painfully against his ribcage.   
  
Hermione didn't gradually come out of her deep sleep; rather, she bolted awake with a small gasp as Ron touched her arm. She clutched at the sleeve of his robe and curled her small, white fingers around the material.   
  
"Stark!" she panted, gripping his arm tightly.   
  
"Hermione, it wasn't Foran!" Ron blurted out before she could explain why she had cried out Stark's name. "His robes were different. It was someone else…they must have used Polyjuice…dammit, we were so rash and quick about it, we didn't even think…"   
  
"I know," Hermione gasped out, rising from the chair with a strange, feverish strength. "I know now. It couldn't have been…Nick Foran couldn't have left something so Dark in me…"   
  
"Sit down, you're ill," Ron commanded, his heart aching as he said it. But Hermione shook her head determinedly. As she did so, she suddenly cried out. "My head," Hermione gasped out, putting a hand to her temple. "It feels like it's going to split open…I don't feel right. I can still feel the curse. I can still feel _him_."   
  
Ron's eyes widened as he finally understood.   
  
"Stark," he said slowly, repeating Hermione's first words out of slumber. "Stark was wearing green robes." His voice was now dull and his eyes had lost their fire. Hermione swayed slightly on the spot and closed her eyes, trying to balance herself as Ron lapsed into a numb silence.   
  
Suddenly he let out a furious sound and lashed out at the first thing he saw; Dumbledore's bookcase. Ron slammed his fist into the books, cursing, pounding at the wall of books again and again, until his knuckles bled. "I knew it was him! I knew it had to be him! I will _kill_ him…I'm going to rip him and Malfoy apart!" Ron screamed, letting all of the emotions which had accumulated in him over the past few hours pour out in the anguished cry.   
  
Before he knew it, Hermione's arms were around him; she, the weak one who was ill, had to comfort _him_. Feeling strangely hollow, Ron briefly closed his eyes and then pulled away from her, his jaw clenched.   
  
"We have to get to the Ministry," Hermione said faintly. "Before they arrest Foran, before it's too late…"   
  
"We? _You_ are not going anywhere," Ron said firmly, drawing his wand to Disapparate.   
  
"Yes," said Hermione determinedly, fixing her eyes on his. They blazed with anger and resolve. "I'm partly responsible for this. I have to go. And I refuse to let them get away with taking advantage of me. I want revenge as badly as you do, Ron."   
  
"But you can't even stand upright!" Ron argued desperately. He would not let her risk her health again. And they were wasting time by fighting.   
  
"I'm coming." Her dark eyes met his again. "You won't leave me here alone," she said with quiet confidence.   
  
Ron balled his fists. She was right: she did deserve revenge, and to be a part of solving the problem, just as much as he did. But Ron did not want to sacrifice Hermione's well-being.   
  
_It's too late,_ he reminded himself painfully. _You already did that when you let her out of your sight at the banquet._   
  
They were wasting precious seconds. "We can't Apparate," Ron said as he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I lost my Auror's priviledges way back, so we'd both get splinched if we tried Apparating out of here."

"Well then we have to get outside the Hogwarts gates."

Ron paused, then raised his wand and, praying his broom was still intact, commanded, "_Accio__ Firebolt!"_

Sure enough, the sleek, beautiful creation glided through the open window, battered but not broken after Ron's wild ride earlier that morning. It hovered patiently in front of it's owner, who glanced at Hermione anxiously. "Do you think you'll be okay on this thing?"

Hermione rewarded him with a faint smile which lit up her pale, gaunt face. "I'll take my chances."

"I'll fly us down to outside the gates," Ron murmured in explanation. "And we'll Apparate to the Ministry as soon as we're off Hogwarts grounds. You know the co-ordinates to Apparate there?"

Hermione nodded impatiently. She strolled forward and mounted the broom unsteadily, taking a shaky breath as Ron hopped on behind her, his hands firmly around her waist.

"I love you," she said suddenly, reaching out to squeeze Ron's hand before they would take off.   
  
Ron felt her weak grip and saw the struggle just to keep herself from passing out written all over her face. He squeezed back and released her cool, dry palm, feeling guilt wrack his nerves. "Merlin only knows why," he muttered in reply.   
  
The broom gracefully rose higher into the air, a nervous Hermione suddenly clutching the handle of the broom and holding on tightly. Ron leaned forward on the _Firebolt_, and they shot out the open window, speeding towards the Hogwarts gates and to grounds on which they could Apparate to the Ministry of Magic.

***

"This way."   
  
They had Apparated into an empty corridor in the Ministry of Magic, one that Ron immediately recognized. Grasping Hermione's limp hand in his own, he hurried down the hall and automatically turned a corner, hoping that they would not be seen. Questions from a curious Ministry employee would only cost them time.   
  
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, her breath coming in short pants.   
  
"The lower levels," Ron answered, abruptly halting.   
  
They stood before a familiar wall, completely covered in portraits of Aurors past and present, receivers of the Order of Merlin, and members of Dumbledore's old Order of the Phoenix. Not an inch of the actual wall was visible; in fact, it appeared that the wall itself was made up entirely of picture frames. Countless faces peered out at them, some curious, some only with vague interest, some ignoring them all together. Most of the wizards on the wall looked fairly normal, but there were also some strange characters with scarred faces, wild hair, missing eyebrows, and other bizarre abnormalities. Many of the portraits had been painted once the Auror it depicted had retired, and most of those people were sleeping soundly.

Ron had committed many of the portraits to memory, having stood before this wall countless times in the past few years. Up there were the images of his idols and heroes; not including the Chudley Cannons, of course, who Ron had fought to make honourary members of the wall. Needless to say, there was still no violent orange up there.  
  
Shaking away his brief bout of nostalgia, Ron immediately reached for his wand and tapped the portrait of Avi Arabbees, 1852-1898.   
  
"_Di__ Sancteus Aurorum," Ron chanted quickly.  
  
Hermione stepped backwards in surprise as the wall and its portraits completely vanished before their eyes. Not waiting for a millisecond, Ron grabbed her hand again and quickly led her into a dark tunnel. Very few torches were scattered here and there along the damp walls. The portrait wall re-formed once again behind them, very much solid again, and Ron tugged Hermione forward.  
  
"I hope they haven't done anything rash to Foran yet…" Ron muttered to himself as he led Hermione through the twisting labyrinth of tunnels.   
  
"They won't hurt him, will they?" Hermione asked, a guilty tone evident in her voice.   
  
Ron considered chastising her for blaming herself once again; it was not her fault that she had been deceived. But instead, he only replied, "No. They won't hurt him." There was a moment of silence as they continued to rush through the complex secret passage, and then Ron commented, "Something still doesn't make sense. If Foran wasn't the Dark Hand's inside source, then how did they know that the scrolls were at Hogwarts, or that they were hidden in that chamber?"   
  
Hermione didn't reply, as much at loss for an answer as he was._

They finally came to a rough door, hewn into the stone of the passageway, and extremely easy to miss. This door had always stuck, Ron remembered. He shoved at it with his shoulder, never releasing Hermione's hand, and prayed that it would budge. It gave way after the fourth shove with a very loud creak.   
  
They emerged into the familiar, lower levels of the Ministry of Magic: Auror headquarters. The dimly lit corridors were somewhat nicer than the rough, crudely made maze of tunnels they had just emerged from. But they were not there to admire the architecture. Ron suddenly faltered, at a loss. Where did they go from there?   
  
The mark on Ron's wrist suddenly burned; Harry was close by. Navigated by instinct more than anything, Ron immediately started to head down the corridor on their left, which was lined with wooden doors. He heard voices up ahead and sped up, dragging poor Hermione along with him, and then burst through the doors.   
  
Hermione screamed as a male voice automatically shouted, "_Cadutare__!"_

Suddenly Ron was staring at the ceiling from the cold, hard floor, winded and dizzy. An exclamation of recognition, and rough hands quickly helped him to his feet. Ron blinked away his dizziness, feeling irritated, only to see Hermione with her fingers wrapped around her own wand. She was breathing heavily out of her nose.   
  
The room was small and cramped, with dozens of maps held up against the walls with magic. A wooden table took up most of the space in the room, and it was sagging under the weight of several books, files, diagrams, and rolls of parchment. Poring over these was a man who Ron quickly recognized as the American history buff, Jonathan Ford.  
  
"Fancy seeing you two here," Diana commented, leaning over a cauldron with a handful of some unidentifiable silver powder in her fist. Hermione finally relaxed and released her wand, letting her arm fall to her side and leaning against the wall in exhaustion. Harry and Sirius, who had helped Ron up, stared at him incredulously.  
  
"Ron, Hermione – " Harry began in surprise.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Sirius demanded.   
  
"Where's Moody?" Ron asked urgently.   
  
"Making the arrest with the others – "   
  
"Dammit!" Ron exclaimed frantically. He proceeded to quickly spill out the details – about the Pensieve, Foran's robes, and Hermione crying out Stark's name. Sirius' eyebrows kept rising higher and higher up on his forehead.   
  
"Of course!" Sirius groaned when Ron had finished, slamming his fist on the table and startling Mr. Ford, who had seemed unperturbed by the commotion up until then. "That's why they only put a Block on her…it would have seemed suspicious if she remembered _everything_…yet they didn't want her to forget. They counted on us getting it out of her somehow, and she would tell us it was Foran…it was all so carefully planned…"   
  
"Except Stark made the mistake of doing his own dirty work," Hermione said from the doorway, her chest rising and falling rapidly.  
  
"He probably enjoyed it," Ron spat in disgust, feeling fury well up in him once more.   
  
"So he must have used Polyjuice Potion to look like Nick, but he forgot to change his robes," Harry repeated to himself, going over the facts in his head. "Idiot," he muttered.  
  
"Foran was wearing his grey robes like the rest of the Department Heads, remember?" Ron said to Harry.   
  
"Well, thanks for bringing the evidence with you," Diana said dryly.   
  
"As if I was going to lug a Pensieve all the way here!" Ron said wildly.   
  
"But with no evidence…" Diana reminded them half-heartedly.  
  
"We have Ron's word," Harry said firmly. Diana looked taken aback at first, but then quickly recovered and threw her hands into the air, giving up.   
  
"There's no time for this. We have to get upstairs before they arrest him," Sirius said sharply.   
  
"Go," Harry said urgently to his godfather, crossing over to one of the maps. "We'll start on trying to figure out where the hell Stark is…" He sighed deeply, looking lost as he stared at the various maps.   
  
Sirius nodded, took a step back from all of them, and Disapparated.

Diana let the ladle she had been stirring the cauldron with fall out of her hands and into the vat. "Well, there's no point in me brewing _this anymore…"   
  
"Keep going, we may need it still," Ron said, joining Harry by the maps. Hermione finally sunk into the chair next to Ford, who was still engulfed in his own little world as his beady eyes darted back and forth across the parchment he was studying.   
  
"So who was their source?" Harry asked in frustration, scanning the maps hopelessly. "They had to have had a source to tell them that the scrolls were at Hogwarts, in that chamber…"   
  
"That's what I said. But we'll find out soon enough, I suppose," Ron said, feeling the tips of his fingers tingle with the urgency he felt. "Listen, they've made a move, and now it's our turn to move our own pieces."_

Harry groaned. "Always chess…"

Ron ignored him. "The question is…where do we move them to? Where would Stark hide?" he murmured, touching the map and running his prickling fingers over it. "Where would _Malfoy_ hide?"   
  
"The Manor," said Hermione in a far-off voice.   
  
Ron snorted derisively. "If Malfoy Manor was still standing, I'm sure he would."   
  
"No…that's where they're going to do it," Hermione said dreamily, slowly shaking her head and making her already wild, tousled locks fly in front of her face. "The Manor…Stark Manor…"   
  
"What makes you think that?" Diana demanded curiously, adding something repulsive-looking to her potion without a second thought.   
  
Hermione snapped out of it and blinked several times, staring at them. "I don't know," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "It just…I don't know," she flushed red and lapsed into silence, glancing over at what Mr. Ford was so absorbed in.   
  
"You know, it's not such a wild suggestion. If you were Stark and were planning to kill off Muggle civilization, wouldn't you want to do it from the comfort of your own home?" Ron asked sarcastically.   
  
It was not intended to be humourous in the least; but sarcasm allowed Ron to disguise his fear, and disguise it he had to. Harry gave him a concerned glance after this cynical, yet morbid comment, and then returned his gaze to the maps. With an absent-minded wave of his wand, Harry caused the map in front of him and a map across the room to slowly peel off the walls and exchange places. Harry stared hard at the new map in front of him as it flattened itself onto the wall.   
  
"I know Stark's got a huge place in Dartmoore, that posh little village in the country near Dover…do you think…" Harry trailed off, contemplative. He suddenly looked up and around anxiously. "Where's Sirius? I hope he got there in time…"   
  
"You've writing this down all wrong," said Hermione suddenly in her familiar, bossy, know-it-all way. Surprised at this, Ron glanced over his shoulder at her and a staggered Mr. Ford. Hermione was pointing at the scribbled notes he was making while reading off of a very battered-looking piece of parchment.

"You copied down, 'at the wrong time, your actions may be overturned'," Hermione said, pointing to his notes, "but it clearly says, 'if the time is wrong, your actions may be reversed'. Really, they're two very different things. Your note-taking skills are horrible."   
  
Perhaps, like Ron, Hermione was desperately attempting to hide her fear by doing things that were familiar and comfortable to her; pointing out other's errors in the ways of note-taking being one of her favourite things to do. But Ron did not dismiss the incident immediately, because Mr. Ford was looking at Hermione with stunned bewilderment in his eyes.   
  
"You can read Scurian?" he breathed, eyes shining.   
  
Hermione frowned. "What? No, it's right there in plain English…"   
  
These happenings had now caught both Diana and Harry's attention; the two of them craned their necks to look at the parchment Mr. Ford had been studying. It was full of bold, complicated-looking symbols which looked vaguely familiar to Ron.   
  
"I don't know what sort of English they taught you at Muggle schools," Diana said, eyebrows raised, "but the English I learned didn't look anything like that."   
  
Hermione peered closely at the writing again, squinting at it as if really seeing it for the first time. Within seconds, she had blanched and pulled away as if the writing had burned her eyes. "Oh…" was all she could manage to choke out, shocked.   
  
Ron vaguely remembered a theory Mundungus Fletcher had spoke of before his retirement, when Ron was still a kid, an Auror-in-training. Mundungus had theorized that the Unforgiveables left some sort of residual of the person who had cast the curse within the victim, particularly if it had been a very strong curse. And old Mundungus had known what he was talking about; he had always used Harry as an example, the proof being in Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue.   
  
If Dameon Stark was indeed the leader of the Dark Hand, then he had to have some knowledge of Scuro's secret language. If had been Stark who had cursed Hermione…and if he had performed a very strong Unforgiveable on her…   
  
Harry swore softly under his breath. "My God. Stark transferred some of his abilities to her," he said, unconsciously raising his fingers to the scar on his forehead.   
  
Hermione looked thoroughly frightened again, her cheeks and lips bloodless. She clenched at the table she sat at with white fingers. "That's what I felt," she said raspily, "that Dark thing inside of me…it was him."   
  
Ron felt sick.   
  
"Can you read it, then?" Mr. Ford asked eagerly, shoving the parchment beneath Hermione's nose. "I've been attempting to translate the language along with a colleague of mine back in the States…we haven't made much progress, I'll admit. This is an amazing breakthrough, you realize – "   
  
"Shut up," snapped Ron, hurrying to Hermione's side. "You're all right? Do you want to go back to Hogwarts? Can you – "   
  


"Weasley, stop fretting over your girlfriend for a second, will you?" Diana interrupted peevishly. "She's a big girl, and she can take care of herself. Not to mention that we now have an unexpected asset here…"   
  
"We're not dragging her into this!" Ron said adamantly.   
  
"I think it's a bit late for that," Diana pointed out; but her voice had suddenly lost its coldness and it seemed that she had tried to say it as gently as possible. It _was_ the truth, after all. Ron clamped his mouth shut and clenched his teeth.

"Now, Granger…" Diana said. "When you mentioned the Manor before, was that just a random thought? Where exactly did it come from?"   
  
"It…just popped into my head," Hermione admitted, some colour returning to her face. Obviously she considered herself a 'big girl' as well, and her new usefulness in the situation seemed to have just dawned on her. "It could have been something I heard, in my mind while I was…under the curse, or just something I…absorbed, I suppose." With renewed interest, she looked back towards the tattered papers Ford had been studying. "What is this?" she asked.   
  
"A collection of correspondences," Ford said breathlessly, his black moustache twitching and his eyes illuminated behind his thick spectacles, "to and from members of the Dark Hand. We suspect they were written sometime during the seventieth century, once the Dark Hand had already been established for quite some time. We theorize that…well, these letters may contain instructions on how to perform the rituals associated with the Scrolls of Scuro."   
  


Hermione's eyes slowly moved across the yellowed pages, murmuring to herself as she did so in a mysterious and dark-sounding language. Her whispers in the foreign tongue had a seductive edge to them; the language sounded entrancing, full of rolled r's and long, melodious words. Yet there was a certain haunting quality to the language as well; an eeriness to the sounds that seemed to reflect itself in Hermione's eyes as she murmured to herself.

As she neared the bottom of the letter, Hermione's brown eyes grew round and her hands trembled in excitement. "It can be reversed!" she finally cried in relief. "The letter just says that if it's not time…I mean, if they used the scrolls and the time is not right, there is a safety mechanism to reverse the process – "   
  
"What is it?" Ron demanded eagerly, a wave of relief sweeping over him. Even if they were too late, there was a way to change it…   
  
"It has to be done soon after they are read," Hermione explained, a frown beginning to form on her ashen face. "Very soon, in order to reverse their effects. This line is giving me trouble though…'The reversal is surprisingly simple. To undo what you have done, you have only to read between the lines.'" Hermione pushed her dishevelled hair out of her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows. "That's not exactly right, of course; it's difficult to put into English. But what does it mean…read between the lines of what? The letter? Is there a deeper meaning in this letter that I'm missing…?"   
  
Meanwhile, Ford's eyes were shining; he dreamily pushed another piece of parchment covered in strange writing in front of Hermione. "And this one?" he asked her with bated breath.   
  
Before Ron could object to Hermione acting as translator for Ford's entire collection, Jameson Howe burst into the cramped room, cheeks ruddy. "Sirius got there just as we were about to arrest Nick," he announced, a bit breathless. "Just in the nick of time. Foran's been informed of everything, and we came down here immediately - they're waiting for all of you out here."   
  
Diana immediately dropped her ladle into the cauldron again, and Harry and Ron both grabbed a protesting Mr. Ford under his arms and hoisted him out of his seat. Hermione also quickly rose and then stumbled, dizzy. But she latched onto Ron and was able to follow the group as they quickly made their way into the torch-lit corridor.

Waiting in the dim hallway were Nicholas Foran, Moody, Sirius, and Ron's fellow Aurors. Joel and Jeremy, the rookies of the Order, had re-joined the group. Sophia Foran was nowhere in sight. The people before him were some of Ron's truest friends, and had been his honourary family for nearly seven years. He respected and trusted these people, and he knew that they would not let Hermione and the rest of the Muggles slip away, fall into war and chaos and death. Ron caught Owen Darnell's eye, and the Scotsman's grim smile of encouragement seemed to give him strength and push away some of his fatigue.  
  
Ron turned his gaze back to Nick; he had never seen a more furious Nicholas Foran. But he was not furious, as Ron immediately thought, because his peers had just attempted to arrest him. On closer inspection, Ron could see that Foran's anger was not directed at the mass of peoples around him, but at whatever twisted soul who had tried to frame him for an atrocious crime that he would never in a thousand lifetimes commit.   
  
"You say it was Stark?" was the first thing out of Nicholas Foran's mouth as Ron stepped into the hallway. Foran's voice was shaking with anger, and his eyes were blazing. This was the Nicholas Foran who Ron saw in court, the unrelenting prosecutor who could reduce a hardened criminal to tears with his hard, fiery glare. There were two sides to Nicholas – the somewhat dull and seemingly emotionless man people saw around the Ministry, and the intense, authoritative leader of the Council of Magical Law, who was almost as passionate as Moody when it came to capturing and punishing Dark wizards.   
  
The Dark Hand had succeeded in rudely awakening the part of Nick Foran that Ron would never want to cross.   
  
"Yes, sir," Ron answered bleakly. "It was Stark."

"It's something Albus and I have suspected for quite some time," Moody grunted. "So it's no surprise. What makes you so sure though, Weasley?"

Ron quickly explained about the robes, though he left out the part about Hermione's unexpected connection to her attacker. There was a brief silence once he had finished, and then Foran spoke again, sharply.

"We would, of course, need the Pensieve as evidence," he pointed out. Ron's heart sunk; he was nearly exhausted from Apparating all over the place, and dragging the Pensieve back to the Ministry was no easy feat. "However," Foran continued. "We haven't the time for that, and quite frankly, Mr. Weasley, your word is all the evidence I need at the moment." Ron sighed in relief.  
  
"Well, Alastor? What now?" Foran's question cut through the temporary silence in the passageway.   
  
"We have no other leads," Moody grunted. "We don't know how Stark would have known that the scrolls were hidden at Hogwarts, or that the chamber they were hidden in could only be opened during the full moon."   
  


"Or how in the hell he got a piece of Nick to brew Polyjuice a la Foran," Sirius added.   
  
"And we're running out of time," Robbie Murdock said, his grey eyes flickering to his watch. "It's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. It'll be dark in only a few hours."   
  
"So, in short, we have nothing," Radcliff Mungston said grimly.   
  
"We have Hermione," Harry abruptly said.

All eyes slowly turned to stare at the shivering mess that was Hermione Granger. Her eyes were wild and feverish, her complexion had turned from ashen to grey, she could barely stand, and she was shaking like mad.   
  
"We think Stark left a residual of himself in her," Harry explained, reaching to put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, squeezing it and trying to lend his friend comfort. Ron tightened his hold on Hermione's waist. She ceased trembling and her breathing started evening out. She knew she was surrounded and protected by the two men she cared for most in the world. Ron saw Diana's eyes resting on the picture of support the trio made, and he almost thought he saw a flicker of something like envy in her dark, veiled eyes.   
  
"She seems to think that the rituals will be performed at Stark Manor," Harry continued quietly.   
  
"You're sure, Harry?" Radcliff said skeptically. "Why would Stark do it in his own home? I mean, sure he's an idiot, but he's not that foolish – "   
  
"Because he made a crucial error. He underestimated his opponents," Ron said with some satisfaction. "Stark put a flimsy Memory Block on Hermione, _expecting_ us to break it. We did, and we saw what he wanted us to see – Nick putting her under Imperio. So right now Stark's most likely drinking champagne with his pal Malfoy, thinking that he's pulled off some amazing stunt and that we're probably arresting Nick right now, without a single suspicion of him."   
  
"He was idiotic enough to assume that we wouldn't figure out that it wasn't Nicholas at all…because we would have," Harry added, looking apologetically at Foran. "We would have known pretty quickly that it wasn't you, Mr. Foran. All of us had huge doubts to begin with. We're lucky that Ron caught the screw-up with the robes…it just bought us a bit more time." He took a deep breath. "And Stark sure as hell didn't count on Hermione getting a piece of him when he performed Imperius."   
  
"But how do you _know_ that, Harry?" Radcliff demanded. But there was a note of intrigue, and perhaps hope, in the dark man's rough voice.   
  
"She can speak Scurian, for one," Mr. Ford said breathlessly. The clump of grizzled hairs above Moody's eyes - which had, at one point, perhaps been eyebrows - shot up.   
  
"Well," said Mad-Eye, both stunned and impressed. Hermione blushed, bringing some faint colour back into her cheeks, and her eyes dropped to the floor.   
  
"We're wasting time," Diana pointed out, her feminine voice clear and high compared to the male ones. "I'll be the first to admit that we have little to no evidence, and this is probably the stupidest risk any of us will ever take…" she trailed off, staring at Hermione, or perhaps at Harry's hand on her shoulder. "But it's the only risk we _have to take right now. And we're running out of time."  
  
"So you're suggesting that…what? We raid Stark Manor in the hopes of finding a bunch of Dark Hand aficionados romping about?" Ian Dion asked, sounding unsure.   
  
"I liked you better when you didn't talk at all," Diana said wryly.   
  
"You have a better suggestion, Ian?" Jameson asked.   
  
"All I know," Ian snapped, "is that my mother is a Muggle, and I don't want to waste time, and possibly risk her life, on the hope that this girl is right."_

Hermione was certainly no longer a girl; yet she looked it, small and frail and clinging to Ron. Ian's voice shook with emotion despite his harsh words, and his eyes were filled with fear.   
  
Ron fixed his own panic-filled eyes on Ian's. "Then we're in the same boat, mate," he said quietly. "Because I don't want to risk this girl's life on the hope that she's right. But I'm going to."   
  
Ian was silent, and after a long pause, he drew his wand as a signal that he was prepared to Disapparate, if need be. One by one, the others gathered there silently did the same. It was only then that Ron noted Dumbledore's absence, and he briefly wondered where the Headmaster could have been.   
  
"I'm coming too," Hermione rasped out, struggling to stand without Ron's assistance. She managed to draw her own wand.   
  


"No – " Ron began, but Nicholas held up his hand.   
  
"She was wronged, just as I was," he said in a clipped voice. "She was used. And she deserves revenge."  
  
"Not…to mention," Hermione panted, "that whether I like it or…not, I have a bit of Stark…in my head. And I can speak…Scurian." She had much difficulty getting the words out, and every breath she took seemed to cause her acute pain. Ron's heart ached for her; and yet he knew what he had to do. Hermione was their only chance. In order to save her life, Ron was going to have to allow her to risk it.   
  
"Where are the co-ordinates, exactly Harry?" Ron asked, briefly closing his eyes. Harry rattled them off, and then fell silent, as if waiting for further instruction.   
  
"All right," Moody grunted. "Remember that we _could be pursuing a false lead, which means you don't attack unless attacked. Keep on your toes. Our objective is to get the scrolls and get out, with as few injuries and/or casualties as possible. Understood?"  
  
"Understood," several voices grimly echoed back.  
  
Moody drew his own wand. "After this," he promised. "I'm retiring for good."   
  
Mr. Ford took a step backward. Where several people in dark cloaks had just stood, there was now emptiness and silence._

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DA NA NA!!!!!!

I love doing that.

Hope you guys enjoyed those little twists and turns and, more importantly, hope that chapter made sense to everyone. Please let me know if it was too confusing…I'm afraid that I packed way too much information into one chapter. By the way, to answer a question: Ron and Harry's bond still exists, it didn't just disappear when Diana became Harry's new partner. That's why Ron was able to Apparate to Harry in Egypt, and how Ron called Harry to him the night Hermione was under Imperius. The bond is a bit weaker now, because they're no longer partners and always together, but it's still there and still pretty strong because they're such good friends. ^_^ Hope that helps! Any other questions I'll be glad to answer! I know some stuff gets confusing.

And now, to the deserving people who didn't get shout-outs last chapter…

TamaraR: Well they found Foran, but there was no butt-kicking involved. Though that does spawn a funny mental picture, come to think of it…

Kae: You like Canada, you like my parodies, you like this fic, and you wanted a shout-out. So here it is, my friend. Bless you for having an interest in Cross Country Canada. You guys have absolutely no idea what you're missing out on with that game.

LadyoftheLake: You have been awaiting patiently, and so you get shout-out. ^_^

Moine Weasley: Your review for Chp. 19 was completely pointless, yet amusing. Well done.

Daggerquill: Forgotten no longer! Thanks for all the awesome reviews! ^_^

The Purple Fuzzy: Yes! I get so excited when anyone says that I capture stuff perfectly and/or that they're a Harry/Diana shipper. I'm so happy when people ship original characters! Usually people are like, "Ew, you cannot pair up an original with a canon character, because they will ultimately slip into that horrible, horrible Mary Sue hell." And yet you believe in me. I salute you. And yes…what happened to Harry in Egypt will be explained soon. ^_~

Moon Goddess: You get a shout-out not only in thanks for your reviews, but also because I know the horrible anxiety of black-outs. Godspeed, Moon Goddess. Godspeed…

Carlyd: Your review got me thinking, and inspired a little scene in my head in an upcoming chapter. So good job!

Alexandria Reese: You also rock!

Amy Clearwater: Good to know that I've somehow become better than daytime soaps. My life goal has been achieved.

Herbie: Well, you've read every chapter and that's what counts! Though reviews are also nice. ^_^

SusieQ: Aw, thanks for going back and reviewing all of my fics! Sorry about the lack of smut…this fic ended up being more serious than originally planned, and hence a bit less smutty.

Araedhel: I gave you a shout-out last chapter, so technically you shouldn't be getting another one, but someone who goes back and reviews random chapters again out of boredom deserves some sort of honourable mention. Well done.

Enelya: You also got one last chap, but…interesting quotes. Maybe I can use them…

The Man-Eating Dust Bunny: You got one last chap, too, but I have to give you the Honourary plot-twist-and-turn-chapter Award for predicting the honourary plot-twist-and-turn. You guessed that Foran was really someone else under Imperius, and you guessed rightly. Excellent work! Can't fool you…

Ritzel: Last person to receive a double shout-out! But…OH MY GOD! I'VE TOTALLY SEEN THAT MOVIE! And believe it or not, if we're talking about the same movie…THAT MOVIE IS THE MOVIE THAT PARTLY INSPIRED THIS FIC! LMAO! Did it have the guy that discovered the vaccine on it, and a little thingy about kids in a third-world country getting some crazy virus in the sewage and how they still have a Polio virus locked up someplace and it's gonna escape and unleash horror on the world at some point? Because that's the video I watched. Lmao, I will laugh so hard if it's the same one. Good job with the muttering! Heh, Bio partner.

That's it, that's all! Sorry it took so long to update – I had some document manager difficulties, as you might know if you happen to read the updates on my author's page. Stupid document manager…

Ahem. Please review! ^_^


	21. Confrontations

**Author's Notes: **I swear to you guys, this fic will be done by Saturday, even if it kills me and I fail all my exams. Oh, what the hell do I care, I'd pass all my courses even if I wrote out a chapter to this story for my English exam essay.

***

The mansion was silent; as if alive, it seemed to be lying in wait with bated breath, in tune to its occupants and the furtive goings-on within itself.

Torches flared to life as a man, clad in crimson robes of silk with a hood that shadowed his face, descended the grand staircase. Confidently, he walked into the main entryway, idly swinging his wand.

The entrance hall was littered with statues and paintings of immense value, much like the rest of the mansion. The massive oak doors, twice the height of a normal man, were guarded on either side by polished, black, marble statues of warriors. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, illuminated by countless tiny flames. The ornate rug before the doors was blood-red, flecked with threads of silver, and looked almost like a pool of blood on the black and white marble floors. Mounted on the walls were the heads and other body parts of various animals, some normal-looking, others with fantastical fur or plumage. 

The foyer was the first chamber one entered when coming into Stark Manor, and it set the tone for the rest of the mansion; it reeked of immense wealth and status, but along with feelings of awe, the room also caused shivers and morose thoughts. The entire mansion caused one to have an immediate sense of feeling very small and insignificant, which was, of course, exactly what the manor's owner intended.

"Are they ready yet?" the crimson-clad figure asked of another hooded man, who had been waiting for him near the towering, oak doors. Intricate carvings were etched into the handsome doors, and the second man was idly tracing these with a black-gloved finger.

"Nearly," his companion replied, continuing to run his gloved fingers over the door's designs. "They have to wait for dark, of course."

"And may I ask why you're just standing here?" the first man demanded scornfully. "Don't you want to be there when they finally do it?" His eyes gleamed greedily.

"Draco ordered me to stand watch here."

"Is he expecting company?" the first man scoffed. "Who is Draco Malfoy to order us around, anyway? We, who have been devoted to the Dark Hand for years. He only just arrived in England, and he thinks he can just take over – "

"Dameon respects him."

"Please. Dameon isn't even the one in charge here."

The second man stopped tracing the etchings in the doors and raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Didn't you know? There's someone else, someone above even Dameon in this. Dameon is only his messenger, his puppet."

The second man looked skeptical. "I haven't seen this man."

"Neither have I," the first man admitted. "But it's what they say."

"Well, I don't ask questions," proclaimed his companion. "Tony asked questions, and look what happened to him."

His cohort greeted this with silence. "Besides," continued the man by the door, "I don't particularly care who's in charge. Whoever it is has gathered all five scrolls. They got the job done."

His companion showed a row of sharp, white teeth. "True. We'll see the Muggles suffer tonight, mark my words. And they thought the _illness was the worst of their worries." The two hooded figures exchanged smirks._

It was then that they heard the sound; a faint series of pops outside the doors.

Both men rapidly drew their wands, on every alert, jaws quivering and heart rates increasing.

"What was that?" said the second man in a panicked undertone.

To both their surprises, the next thing they heard was a loud rapping on the oak doors. Neither of them dared to move, however. Then a muffled voice spoke on the other side of the doors.

"By order of the Ministry of Magic, these doors must be opened within the next five seconds," the loud, male voice threatened. "You will comply immediately, or face the consequences."

The two crimson figures inside Stark Manor exchanged wild glances. "I thought Dameon took care of any interference!" one of them hissed.

"Five…" began the voice, "four…three…"

"Don't you dare open that door," the first man snarled, slapping his companion's hand away from the golden handles. "They couldn't possibly have a warrant. They can't do anything."

"Two…"

"Are you sure?" said the second man anxiously.

But his friend had no time to respond, because the next second a chorus of voices had simultaneously shouted a word, and with a sound like thunder, the grand oak doors ripped off their hinges and soared backwards into the foyer. The two men were sent sailing backwards by the force of the magic that had blown the mighty doors away. The men landed in a crumpled, crimson heap on the grand staircase just before the doors themselves crashed to the ground and splintered into a thousand pieces, taking several statues and expensive pieces of furniture with them. The ear-splitting sound of the fallen doors echoed throughout the mansion, causing the chandelier above to rattle violently.

As the sound eventually faded away and the dust settled, a group of dark-cloaked figures marched into the hallway, carefully stepping over large pieces of splintered wood and shattered marble.

"One," said a red-haired Auror in grim satisfaction, blowing on his wand.

"Knock knock, Stark," another said coldly. He was instantly recognizable as none other than Harry Potter.

***

"There were men guarding the door," Jameson announced, wandering over to the staircase and bending over one of the hooded figures. He pushed the man's hood back with his wand to get a proper look at his face. "Ugh. Thatcher Ralston." He turned to the second figure and did the same. "And Dietrich Mulberry. Scum of the aristocratic world. No surprises here."

"I thought I told you clowns not to attack unless attacked," Moody barked, glancing over at the unconscious men.

"It's their own faults for standing behind the door," Joel shrugged. 

Meanwhile, the commotion in the foyer had not gone unnoticed; several shouts could already be heard, the voices sounding far-off, but drawing ever nearer. The Aurors already had their wands drawn and ready, and had instinctively moved closer together, ready for the expected oncoming attack. Hermione was among them, wand also drawn, grimly determined to fight as well, despite the fact that she could barely stand. Ron's heart thudded in his chest, racing with fear, but also with excitement. It had been a long time since he had participated in a good, old-fashioned, Ministry "raid". Yet the stakes were so much higher this time. It wasn't a game.

A group of crimson-clad figures burst through a door on their left, wands pointed at the group of Aurors.

"_Stupefy!" the crimson figures shouted one after another, red jets of light bursting forth from wand after wand._

"Does this constitute being attacked, Moody?" Radcliff yelled.

"Shields up!" barked Mad-Eye, ignoring him.

"_Protegga__ Superiorus!" the Aurors immediately shouted out all at once. A beautiful, emerald light escaped from each of their wands, and poured, like a liquid, over them and onto them. The spells from the members of the Dark Hand bounced harmlessly off, rebounded by the waves of emerald light. The curses shot off in different directions to do more harm to the already-damaged entrance hall. Another cluster of Dark wizards banged into the foyer, furious, just as the emerald light around the Aurors dissolved._

"Split up!" Sirius immediately yelled, and the group dispersed quickly, weaving into the mass of crimson robes as a fierce battle commenced, and all hell broke loose.

"Hermione, _down!_" Ron instantly commanded, roughly shoving her downwards and dropping to the floor himself as a number of spells flew over their heads. "I don't care _how_ determined you are to fight, I'm not letting you just stand there and get blown to pieces," Ron said fiercely into her ear, his body pressed against hers on the floor.

Heart pounding, temples throbbing, and muscles aching, Ron painstakingly crawled through the combat, his belly to the floor and Hermione by his side. His eyes quickly scanned the damaged entrance hall for a place Hermione could take cover near, safe from the curses exploding from wands all around the room. He spotted a fallen marble statue leaning precariously against a wall, creating a small, sheltered space where Hermione could hide. He pushed her towards it, trying to yell instructions to her; but over the chorus of voices shouting curses and spells, he wasn't sure that she could hear him. Nonetheless, she obediently crawled into the space between the statue and the wall, giving him a bold and fearless look as she did so, wand still drawn and ready.

"Just for now," Ron promised her. He leapt to his feet.

Not seconds after Ron had joined the fray, he noticed streams of light bursting forth from behind Hermione's shelter, hitting members of the Dark Hand and causing them to cry out and fall to the ground, unconscious or frozen. Ron glanced back to see Hermione's wand darting out from behind her cover to occasionally do the much-needed damage. Had the situation not been so dire, Ron would have grinned wildly. Nothing could stop Hermione Granger.

"Harry!" Ron yelled over the din of battle, ducking a curse as it was flung his way. He returned the favour, his attacker's robes bursting into flames as Ron's spell hit its mark. The man's shrill screams rose over the din of battle, piercing Ron's ears.

"I'm a little busy!" Harry hollered back, cursing one man and elbowing a man sneaking up behind him in the ribs. Leave it to Harry to do things the Muggle way.

"We don't have time to waste on these idiots! It's the scrolls we want!" Ron shouted across the room. "_Stupefy!_" he quickly chanted as two men advanced on him.

One went down, but the other managed to get in a well-placed, "_Dardreo__!" Ron hunched over, eyes bulging, as the spell hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to see stars. Ron desperately tried to suck in air, but found his windpipes blocked by the curse. He continued to make an empty, wheezing sound, trying to get oxygen; the battle swam before his eyes and he began to get light-headed. But before Ron's opponent could take advantage of his impaired state, a well-aimed spell from behind Hermione's shelter took him down._

The curse wore off, and Ron greedily sucked in a lungful of air. He would definitely make this up to Hermione later. But right now, no marble statue was going to shield a weak, seriously ill witch for long from the damage some of these Dark wizards were capable of doing. It was fine for the moment, but Ron needed to get Hermione somewhere _safe_; not to mention they had to do what they had come to do – find the scrolls. Ron's eyes scanned the room for a way out; he spotted a fairly clear path towards a richly carved door behind the staircase.

"I've got to get Hermione out of here! Watch my back!" Ron shouted to Harry. Ron dove to the ground to avoid another curse coming his way and quickly crawled towards Hermione, who was looking even paler than he remembered her looking only seconds ago. It seemed as if the spells she had been using were draining her of energy.

"C'mon," Ron said, reaching out to grab her cold, white hand with his own slippery one. He pulled her out of the shelter and hastily raised a temporary shield around the two of them. Harry was frantically cursing everyone within three feet of the pair.

Hermione stumbled; Ron quickly put an arm beneath her to support her, and managed to drag her towards the door near the staircase. Praying that it was unlocked, Ron kicked it open with a booted foot and all but flung himself into the darkened room, taking Hermione with him. Breathing hard, he slammed the door behind them and magically sealed it, hoping the seal would hold, and that the rest of the Aurors would be a sufficient enough distraction to keep their enemies from pursuing him and Hermione.

Ron turned, panting, to see Hermione leaning against a panelled wall, eyes wide and glittering with fever in the dark room.

"He's here," she breathed. "_They're_ here. The scrolls, and Stark. Right below us."

***

Diana had never had such an adrenaline rush in her life. She twisted and whirled, yelling curse after curse until her voice was hoarse, taking immense satisfaction in making their enemies fall. These were the same stuck-up, superior aristocrats who thought they were _so_ above her, what with her family's Dark history and her father's degrading reputation. Diana, much like Sirius Black (whom she had become quite fond of), still received disapproving stares and was the subject of many whispered conversations at the Ministry of Magic. Yet _her_ only crime was being the daughter of Alonso Drago, whereas these men were lurking around in some secluded mansion, planning the destruction of Muggle-kind.

Diana caught a glimpse of Granger and Weasley ducking into a doorway out of the corner of her eye, and briefly wondered where they were going before turning back to the more pressing matters at hand.

"_Resideratum!" screamed her current opponent, obviously sick of trying to disarm her and suddenly opting to curse her instead. Surprised at this abrupt change in tactic, Diana did not have the time to put up a strong shield or a block to the curse. Nonetheless, the spell rebounded harmlessly away, and Diana turned in surprise to find her partner by her side, the tip of his wand still faintly glowing after having blocked the curse for her._

Diana grinned at him. She may not have been a part of Potter's little trio, but she was still his partner. His eyes flashed, but he didn't grin back; of course, this wasn't just another fight, especially for him. He was raised among Muggles, and although Diana knew he wasn't particularly fond of his Muggle family, many non-magic people _were_ important to Potter – like Granger. Diana's grin disappeared and she returned to focusing on the battle. They weren't making much leeway, and the men in crimson robes seemed to have only been sent to waste the Auror's time and keep them distracted. The members of the Dark Hand had not attempted any devastating curses yet, but it seemed they were losing both their cool and their patience.

Finally, the inevitable happened – one of them snapped.

Jeremy Desiderius hopped out of the way of a curse and childishly smirked at his attacker, grinning superiorly at him. He must have been hopping around like this for awhile, gleefully avoiding curses just to irritate his opponent, because the hooded man's face was flushed with anger and annoyance.

"_Crucio__!" the man suddenly roared, pointing his wand at Jeremy._

"Jerry!" Joel hollered in warning, seeing the danger to his partner.

The smirk was instantly wiped off of Jeremy's face as the curse hit him and he fell to the ground, screaming in agony. The young Auror's shrieks filled the entrance hall, rising up over the clamour of the battle and giving everyone pause for a second.

Potter swore angrily and his face contorted into a mask of fury. "That's just playing dirty!" he yelled furiously, rushing over to stop the wizard who had performed the Unforgivable on Jeremy without a second thought. Diana shook her head and quickly raced after Potter, lest he do some damage to himself.

The hooded man was attempting to make a hasty retreat, his eyes glimmering maliciously and his cheeks flushed.

"_Expelliarmus__!" Potter cried. But the spell went wide of its mark, and Harry wisely decided to tackle his target instead, knocking the slight man roughly to the floor. Potter managed to snatch the man's wand from him as the two of them fell to the ground in a tangled mess. Grunting, Potter caught Diana's eye and disentangled himself long enough to toss the wand to Diana, for only the wand that had performed the Unforgivable could undo the damage._

"_Finite Incanteum!_" Diana quickly chanted. Jeremy abruptly stopped screaming, though he remained in a crumpled heap on the marble floors, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his face and neck. Diana snapped the Dark wizard's wand in half and tossed it at the man in disgust. Potter rose to his feet, having seen to it that the hooded man would not awaken for quite awhile. Joel, meanwhile, had rushed to his friend's side and had put up a quick shield to keep wayward curses from hitting his fallen partner.

One of their opponents abruptly froze in mid-step and barked something in a rapid, mysterious-sounding tongue. His companions dropped what they were doing and simultaneously disappeared with consecutive pops. The Aurors were left alone in the enormous foyer, which became eerily quiet after the last echoes of battle had faded away.

"Everyone all right?" Harry called out, sounding exhausted.

They weren't; Jeremy was down, quite shaken but still conscious. Ian had received quite a blow to the head, and Robbie looked worse for the wear from being thrown around the room with a Levitating spell. Sirius' arm was bleeding - and from the expression of pain on his face, his bad leg seemed to be ailing him - but other than that he and the rest of the Aurors were physically fine. Joel just looked completely petrified; this had been his first all-out battle, and the rookie was physically and emotionally drained, not to mention frightened. Diana's shin throbbed painfully, and she idly wondered when she had injured it. She felt fairly certain that she'd have a very attractive, purple bruise there if they ever got out of that mansion alive.

"Landers, you stay here with Dion and Desiderius," Moody commanded, hobbling over to where Joel was kneeling rigidly beside his partner. Mad-Eye looked physically fine, but the battle had taken its toll on even the seasoned Auror. He was breathing heavily through his nose and his limping was even more prominent than usual. "The rest of you, get a move on. I want every corner of every room of this house searched for those damn scrolls. I don't know where those idiots went, but I'm pretty sure that it wasn't to tea, so be on your guards. _Constant vigilance!" he emphasized, smacking his fist into his palm. He briefly glanced over to Sirius. "You all right, Black?"_

"Fine," Sirius insisted breezily. "I'll take the upper levels," he said, nodding towards the staircase. He smoothly turned into Padfoot and bounded up the stairs, no longer held back by the limitations of his human body. Diana briefly wondered if he could perhaps smell out the scrolls as Padfoot; an Animagus was useful to have around after all.

Moody nodded his grizzled head. "I'll go with Black. Mungston, you and Darnell take the lower levels. Murdock, you and Howe investigate those rooms to the left of here. Potter, Drago, you take the right." He took a breath and glanced around, his magical eye rolling to the back of his head. "Where's Weasley and Professor Granger?"

"They slipped away during the battle," Harry explained, worry evident in his voice and in his creased forehead.

Mad-Eye paused. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he finally grunted.

Exchanging last glances with their companions, the Aurors began migrating in different directions, leaving Joel, Jeremy, and Ian in the front hallway. Diana drew her wand and followed Harry towards the arched doorway on their right, and into what looked like a sitting room.

Diana glanced around as they slowly moved through the room. Like the foyer, the supposed sitting room gave the distinct impression of being a room no one would really be comfortable sitting in at all. Two enormous fireplaces were on opposite ends of the room, protected by metal grates which glinted at them menacingly. Scattered about were a few enormous armchairs, covered in silver and burgundy, with curved backs that made them appear to be living creatures with arched backs. Diana couldn't help but shiver slightly. Her muscles were tensed and she was ready to pounce or flee, should she need to.

She glanced out a small window near one of the fireplaces, with crimson curtains drawn tightly around it. Diana swiped the velvet curtains away and glanced outside; the afternoon was growing late, and, being February, the sun would soon set. Diana exchanged meaningful looks with her partner and let the curtains fall back into place.

"There's nothing in here," Potter said in a low voice, moving towards a shut door on the other end of the room. The door was unlocked and gave way into a room similar to the last one. Diana idly wondered what in the world one man, with supposedly no immediate family and no wife, needed with more than one sitting room. Shaking her head slightly, Diana's eyes swept over the room, and, seeing nothing, she moved towards another closed door and stretched out her hand to tug it open.

She heard a faint clicking sound as the lock protested and the door did not budge. Diana glanced over her shoulder at her partner, who was examining small, carved figures of snakes on the mantle of a fireplace with curiosity.

"This one's locked," she announced. Potter instantly dropped his interest in the figurines and walked over to the door, standing beside her.

"Then that means it's the only one worth getting into," he noted grimly, trying the lock for himself. He pulled out his wand.

"Wait, Potter," Diana said quickly, glancing from Harry's determined face to the locked door. "You don't know what's waiting for us behind the door. There could be a dozen of our old hooded friends in there just waiting to curse your socks off. Don't be a hot-head and just rush into things this time…just wait, think things through for once, get ready for – "

"_Apertoporta__!" Potter said firmly, pointing his wand at the door. The lock shattered and it swung open, as if inviting them into the dark chamber beyond it._

Diana sighed heavily. "Hot-head," she muttered, following him into the room.

This room was different from the others. There was not a torch in sight and the windows were covered with layers upon layers of dust, allowing only slivers of light to pierce through them and enter the room, which was shadowed and dark. From what Diana could see, there appeared to be no furnishings in this chamber. There were no fine decorations or plush furniture – in fact, the only object she could make out was a fireplace with a grate similar to those in the last few rooms. Even Potter hesitated as he entered, wand drawn and ready. Diana remained close behind him, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness in the shadowy room.

"_Lumos__," Harry whispered, his soft voice sounding extremely loud in the empty room. Diana followed suit, although the spells did little for them. The weak lights from their wands scarcely cut through the darkness, and only revealed what Diana had already suspected; the room was indeed empty, and seemingly deserted. _

Potter began to wander forward, and Diana followed beside him, an uncomfortable feeling settling into the bottom of her stomach with every step they took. Something was not right. Her heart began to speed up; she briefly worried that Potter could hear it hammering against her rib cage.

_Suck it up, Drago, Diana scolded herself sarcastically. _What are you, afraid of the dark?__

Diana suddenly saw Harry's shoulders hunch, and his muscles tense. She froze, an odd ringing in her ears as she strained to listen for whatever faint sound had caused him to pause. Diana glanced at her partner's face by the light of her wand; his jaw had suddenly clenched, and he was pressing his lips together so hard that they were turning white.

"Don't move," he mouthed to her. Diana nodded imperceptibly, clutching her wand. Scarcely daring to breathe, she watched as Potter slowly raised his wand in front of him and then abruptly spun around, pointing the wand before him.

Diana heard Harry's wand clatter to the floor, and she too whirled around only to see a thin, polished wand staring back at her partner, aimed directly between his eyes. Her heart stopping briefly, Diana's eyes travelled up the thin wand and up a crimson-clad arm, coming to rest on the face of the wand's owner.

It was Draco Malfoy, an ecstatic smirk on his face, cold eyes glinting with pleasure.

"Well, well, Potter," he said in delight, as one would after finding a marvellous surprise for themselves. "Are you what all that commotion was about earlier?"

"Isn't this a surprise, meeting _you_ here," Harry replied wryly, keeping his composure. His eyes were on his fallen wand; he must have dropped it in surprise at finding Malfoy's wand in his face when he had turned around. Malfoy noted this and trapped Harry's only weapon beneath one of his dragon-hide boots.

"Oh yes, that's right, you were _on_ to us, weren't you?" Malfoy laughed scathingly. "I can just picture you and Weasley congratulating yourself on your cleverness. Well, _bravo_, Potter, you have my admiration." Draco gave a mocking little bow, keeping his wand steady. "I must admit, Dameon's crackpot little plan of Muggle domination sounded quite blasphemous to me at first. It was really you, Potter, who convinced me to lend my help to him. Because I knew that you and the rest of those laughingstocks would be the ones attempting to stop him, and it gives me immense pleasure to see you struggle so."

Malfoy laughed again and dug his wand into Harry's forehead, causing Potter to wince slightly. "I was most surprised when I discovered the historical evidence supporting Dameon's…or shall I say, Mr. _Ademon's_…plan, and then I was truly intrigued, especially given his family's history with the Dark Hand and the Scrolls of Scuro. It was an interesting lark to embark upon, to say the least, and of course, the fact that it actually _worked_ due to the incompetence of your precious Aurors was an added bonus," Malfoy said in satisfaction. "Because I _do love to see Mudbloods suffer…almost as much as I love to see you suffer, Potter." He grinned wickedly and viciously dug his wand into Harry's forehead again. "I've been gone for far too long," Malfoy whispered, smiling madly, his eyes glinting with malevolence._

It was only then that Diana seemed to come back to reality, and find her voice. Although Malfoy's wand was pointed at Harry, _her wand was pointed at Malfoy. She finally spoke with steely coldness. "Drop the wand," Diana commanded bluntly, thrusting her own weapon forward._

Draco's smile widened as his eyes slowly shifted over to the raven-haired woman. "Ahh…" he said, his eyes flashing with recognition. "Now I remember you." Malfoy smirked. "You were that _whore_ from Durmstrang."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry barked, fists clenched. Diana suddenly felt new courage flood into her, and she coolly took a step closer to Malfoy, her wand still pointed directly at him.

"Yes, I remember your father as well," Malfoy continued, obviously enjoying himself. "What was it again…Drago, yes? I believe we got off on the wrong foot, didn't we?" He flashed a perverse smile as his eyes raked over her.

Diana continued moving towards Malfoy, whose countenance clouded. "Not another step," he said lightly, pressing his wand into Harry's head again.

"Go ahead," Diana challenged him mockingly. "I dare you to."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You're far too bold, Miss Drago," he said curtly, clenching his teeth and tapping his wand against Harry's forehead, as if to prove his point.

"Do it," Diana said carelessly. "What do I care if you kill Harry Potter? I'm a Death Eater's daughter, after all - "

Harry's face briefly clouded; but then, realizing his partner's strategy, he relaxed somewhat.

" – and you're a Death Eater's son," Diana continued, taking another step forwards. "We should be jolly good friends, shouldn't we? I believe our disgusting excuses for fathers were."

Draco's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't you _dare_ speak about my father that way," he hissed.

"Have a sore spot about Daddy dearest?" Diana asked tauntingly, taking another step forward.

"Not another step!" Draco screeched again, this time rather shrilly. He was quickly losing his composure, and his carefully slicked, pale locks were beginning to fall out of place.

"Go on and kill him," Diana said indifferently. "See if I care." She noted a dull ache in her chest, and realized that it was coming from her heart.

Draco's eyes returned to Harry; they were now gleaming, and Diana was starting to suspect that Draco Malfoy was quite mad. Harry only returned his old enemy's gaze back calmly.

"You fancy yourself omnipotent, don't you, Potter?" Draco whispered. He suddenly shook Harry violently, until Potter's teeth rattled. Diana took another alarmed step forward. 

"Because of Snape's sacrifice, hmm?" Malfoy laughed maniacally, and stopped shaking his boyhood rival. Harry only glared stoically back at him.

"Well, _you may be safe from the Killing spell," Draco said, a mad smile lighting up his pale features. "However, your girlfriend is not!" Malfoy suddenly spun to point his wand at Diana. Caught off guard, Diana only managed to blurt out the beginning of a spell before Draco had disarmed her. Diana's wand flew across the room, clattering to the floor somewhere in the darkness._

Draco now slowly changed his aim, pointing his wand at Diana, though he still held Potter close to him by a fistful of Harry's black cloak. Malfoy gave another frenzied laugh, and leaned closer to Harry.

"How shall I do it, Potter?" he asked, sneering. "She's such a pretty little thing. It would almost be a shame to kill her. Perhaps I'll put her under Imperius, to keep for my own uses…"

Harry finally snapped; he furiously attempted to break out of Malfoy's iron grip and use his wand, but Draco was faster – with a screamed curse, he sent Diana flying backwards into something hard and stone. Reeling dizzily, her head screaming in pain, Diana crumpled to the ground. She saw through blurry vision the shadowy form of Harry cringe, feeling Diana's pain through their bond. Harry then straightened as the echo of pain began to subside, and stopped struggling out of fear that Malfoy would attempt to hurt Diana again.

"Yes, that's what makes you weak, Potter," Malfoy said in revulsion. "Attachments. Love. Disgusting. In fact, that's almost as disgusting as Granger and Weasley." He suddenly chuckled to himself. "A Death Eater's daughter, the object of Harry Potter's affections. How ironic.

"Now, Potter," Malfoy spat as Diana's vision began to return to normal. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark room by now, and she could see the outlines of Harry's and Malfoy's bodies. Malfoy still had Harry by the collar. "I know I can't kill you through magic," Draco drawled, reaching within his cloak for something. "But all those people, dead at your feet, sacrificing themselves for something as worthless as you, can't _possibly protect you from other means of harm, can they?"_

Harry blanched; Malfoy had finally affected him. Harry had always blamed himself for the countless people who had died because of him, either purposefully or inadvertently – his parents, Snape, Colin Creevy, Susan Bones, Dean Thomas, Cedric Diggory, and countless others. Draco sneered, knowing that he had hit home, and Harry finally broke his gaze with his old enemy, looking away.

Diana's head was throbbing painfully, but the pain was slowly subsiding and giving her room to think. She had slammed into something cold and stone; the fireplace, perhaps. Suddenly seized with an idea, she moved her hand over the surface of the fireplace, searching for anything she could possibly use. Her hands closed around something long, cool and metallic; a poker.

Malfoy suddenly brought his face dangerously close to Harry's. "All those people dead, and for nothing. Because you're not as omnipotent as you think, Potter," he hissed, a fanatical grin slowly spreading over his face. It was then that Diana saw the flash of something steel in Malfoy's grip.

Her insides turned to ice. It was a dagger.

"_Harry!" Diana screamed in warning._

Harry's eyes dropped. He immediately spotted the dagger, and frantically pushed away from Malfoy with all his might as Draco prepared to plunge the dagger into Harry's abdomen. Diana leaped to her feet, still dizzy from being hurled against the fireplace, the poker in her hand.

Harry's struggling caused his position in Malfoy's possessed, iron grip to change just as Draco raised the knife, and instead of lodging itself in Harry's stomach, the dagger plunged into Harry's leg. He howled in pain. Diana sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her partner's pain in her own leg through their bond. Trying to ignore Harry's pain, Diana sprinted towards Malfoy, the iron poker in hand. Draco, now angered, pulled the bloody dagger out of Harry's leg and prepared to stick it into its original mark. 

Before he could, however, Diana arrived and swung the heavy poker into Malfoy's skull with all her might. It connected with a sickening crack, and Malfoy stumbled backwards, Harry's wand rolling out from beneath his boot. Harry swiftly dove for his wand, though his leg was bleeding freely.

"_Kinetica__!" Harry cried, blasting Malfoy away from him. Malfoy went flying across the room, and slammed into a wall with the distinct sound of breaking bones. Malfoy's broken body fell into a crumbled heap in the darkness. The room was silent after that, devoid of movement or sound, until Harry let out a little gasp of pain._

"Let me fix it," Diana ordered, her heart pounding at double its usual rate as she kneeled beside him. The pain was slowly starting to dull and fade away in her own leg; it had served its purpose to warn her of Harry's danger, and now would slowly disappear so that she could help her partner.

"You don't have your wand," Harry reminded her, breathing shallowly and clutching his leg.

Diana swore. "Give me yours," she commanded. Potter weakly handed it over, and Diana uttered a useful little spell that stopped the bleeding.

"There. It's not healed, but it's not bleeding either," Diana said matter-of-factly, trying to disguise the fact that she was badly shaken. Her hands must have been trembling slightly nonetheless, because as she drew her wand away from Harry's wound, he suddenly reached out and grasped her cold, sweaty palm. His intense eyes locked with hers for a brief moment, and then Diana slowly pulled her hand away, her heart racing. She got up and slowly walked across the room to check on Malfoy.

"I think you may have killed him," Diana commented as she bent down to check the little slime's pulse. Regrettably, she found one.

"Good," Potter said fiercely.

Diana didn't have the heart to tell him that Malfoy _was alive. Then again, once he'd calmed down, Harry would probably be thankful that he hadn't killed his old enemy. He tended to have a conscience about things like that._

To Diana's relief, she spotted her wand lying a few feet away from Malfoy's immobile form as she got up. She snatched it off the floor and pointed it at Draco.

"_Petrificus__ Totalus," she murmured. Malfoy froze as he was, a twisted heap of crimson robes. At least this way, if he __did happen to wake up, he wouldn't be going anywhere._

"Well," Diana said, walking back over to Potter. He was struggling to his feet, his leg evidently still giving him pain despite the spell. "That was all fine and dandy, but no scrolls." She hoped her casual tone hid the inner turmoil within her. The things that Malfoy had said…perhaps not _everything_ he'd implied had been a lie…

"No scrolls," Harry affirmed, still trying to get to his feet. Diana tried to casually offer her hand to him, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet. She thought that perhaps he held on to her hand for a second more than was necessary. "Something tells me Ron and Hermione beat us to it," Potter commented, releasing her hand.

"Well. Let's find them, then." Diana could make out the shape of yet another door before them, draped in the shadows of the room. "Shall we?"

"After you," Harry said half-heartedly. Diana sucked in a breath and began to walk towards the door, Harry hobbling after her.

"We should probably see if we can find Sirius and Moody while we're at it," Harry said suddenly. "Just…to tell them what happened." Potter glanced back at Malfoy. Diana nodded silently.

The two of them left the room, leaving an unconscious Malfoy behind for better or for worse.

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*Sigh* That was a very fun chapter to write, what with all the shenanigans and goings-on and people being hurled across rooms. Has everyone caught snatches of Rowan's vision back in Chapter I-Can't-Remember yet? Props for those who did.

A note for all HP fanfic authors: there are two characters whose dialogue always seems to end up with a ton of italicized words in it – Hermione and Draco. I think I went through this chapter at least five times trying to un-italicize Draco's lines, and he still seems to stress every other word. Nonetheless, I'm quite pleased with how he came across in this chapter. For a character who was never supposed to originally be in this fic (I decided he should be after watching the CoS DVD because he's hella cool), he made for a great confrontational scene. ^_^

I apologize for the lack of shout-outs, but seeing as I posted the last chapter only like, two days ago, the shout-outs would be pretty scarce and/or repetitive. So I'll try to do shout-outs for the next chapter.

However, due to popular demand, here is the long-awaited return…of the review song! (To the tune of that "Grease Is the Word" song from…you guessed it! Grease.)

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANANANANANANANANANANANA NA NA!

*More musical interlude*

I write these chapters and I see the light,

Just only six more days, so I had better type.

Sure there's a danger that I'll fail my exams,

But I hate studying; so I'll write for this fic's fans.

Review is the word!

Da na na na na!

Just three more chapters and then this fic's done,

Although I may be wrong, might be three chapters plus one.

Hey what is wrong with a nice epilogue?

So I can wrap things up and then…go for a jog?*

Review is the word!

(Review is the word, is the word, that you heard…)

It's got groove, it's got meaning.

(Da…da…da…da…da!)

Review! Now's the time, there's the place, just click go now.

Review to tell me how you're feeling!

Da na na na na!

Review is the word, is the word, that you heard, is the word…

_*Nothing good rhymes with epilogue. Except maybe dog. Perhaps the line could've been, "Go look at Sirius, he can turn into a dog!" Hmm…oh well, review! Is the word, is the word, is the word…_


	22. A Ring of Endless Light

**Author's Notes: **Welcome to crazy-plot-twist-chapter #2! This one's a doozy, I must admit…and if anyone of you saw _this coming, then I no longer pride myself as an author. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and encouragement…I don't know if I'll be able to finish this before OotP after all…but the chapters after this one are just epilogueish type chapters. You guys'll still read them after OotP…right?_

I named this chapter after one of my favourite books as a kid – A Ring of Endless Light, by Madeline L'Engle. It applied quite well to the chapter. Enjoy…she's a doozy.

***

Ron ran his fingers over the panelled wall in front of him, searching for a way out of the room he had unintentionally imprisoned himself and Hermione in. She was convinced that Stark, and the scrolls, were directly beneath them; yet he could not find a way out of the room save for the door they had come in from. The muffled sounds of battle outside the door seemed to have ceased, but Ron was afraid to find out who had captured the victory. He was closely inspecting a large, rich bookcase when a sudden, excruciating pain seized his right leg.

Ron cried out and clutched his leg. Hermione rushed over, despite the fact that she could barely stand, and lightly touched his shoulder, searching his face in confusion.

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously as Ron's features contorted in pain.

But before Ron could even speculate about the origins of the sudden pain, it began to subside. Straightening shakily, he gritted his teeth; he had felt that kind of pain a few times before, through the bond he had with Harry. His old partner had obviously been hurt badly. The crippling pain Ron had felt in his leg had been only an echo of Harry's, after all, and while Ron's pain had quickly disappeared after serving its purpose, Harry's would not.

"Harry's been hurt," Ron explained dully.

Hermione blanched, her fingers flying to her lips. "No…" she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head and causing her tangled locks to fly into her face. "Is it bad? Is he…" but she trailed off, choking back her words in panic.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's alive," Ron confirmed grimly, feeling his insides turn to lead as he said the words. Relief briefly erased Hermione's panic, but she still reached out and tightly squeezed his arm.

"Ron, Rowan saw something about Harry in her vision!" she said urgently. "She cried out his name at the end of her vision, remember? He could be in trouble…"

Ron's eyes flickered over to the door they had come in from; things were still silent on the other end. Yet again, he felt the weight of a choice on his shoulders: to stay with Hermione, search for the scrolls, or find Harry. His partner could have been in serious trouble…or he could have done something as trivial as fallen down the stairs and injured his leg. Ron would not put it past Harry.

Logic made up Ron's mind for him. Ron, as Harry's old partner, had felt the pain, which meant that Diana had undoubtedly also felt it. Diana was Harry's partner now, and as much as Ron felt the compelling urge to help Harry, he knew that Diana would not allow anything to happen to him.

"Ron…" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts. He glanced over to her; she was wordlessly pointing at a nearby window. Ron's eyes followed her slender finger, and he felt his body begin to tingle in anxiety, for the sky had turned blood red. The sun was setting.

Ron abruptly turned around and frantically tried to search for an exit again. He all but clawed at the walls like a madman. Time was quickly passing, and when the sun slipped below the horizon, their time would be up.

"What about Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"Diana won't let anything happen to him," Ron replied firmly.

Hermione hesitated, but then nodded as if in agreement. She propped herself against the wall again to keep from crumpling to the floor or fainting, and was silent for a long time. 

"Ron, you know what we have to do," she finally said quietly, all desperation and fear gone from her voice. Her grim, resolute tone caused Ron to briefly pause in his frenzied search.

"Yes, get down there," he answered impatiently, pointing at the floor. "If that's where you say the scrolls are." He turned and resumed his search, taking out his wand and muttering spells under his breath, hoping they would reveal something.

Hermione continued to stare at him solemnly, causing Ron to glance back at her expectantly. Their eyes locked. "There's no time for looking for a way down there," Hermione said softly. "We have to Apparate."

Ron stared at her, eyebrows raised. "Are you crazy?" he exclaimed. "We'd have no idea where we'd be going!"

"I know."

"We'd both get splinched!"

"Do you see any other way out of this?" Hermione asked quietly, breaking their eye contact and staring at the floor.

"Yes. We keep looking, or if worse comes to worse, we go back out there," Ron snapped edgily, pointing at the door.

"Ron, it's almost dark!"

"We'll find another way!" Ron shot back firmly, beginning to raise his voice.

"Muggles everywhere are going to die if we don't do something!" Hermione practically screamed, a note of despair in her anguished voice. "Isn't that worth the risk of getting splinched?!"

"Then _I'll go!" Ron shouted back, "I am _not_ letting you risk your life."_

"I'm dead anyway!" Hermione burst out.

Ron felt as if he had been punched in the stomach; he exhaled painfully, and almost forgot to breathe in again. He fixed Hermione with a hard stare. "Don't you dare say anything like that again, Hermione Granger," he hissed fiercely. "Don't you _dare_."

"Well, it's true!" Hermione cried, tears beginning to silently slide down her pale cheeks. "If we don't stop them, I'm going to die along with every other Muggle and Muggle-born in the world. If we Apparate down there, we run the risk of getting splinched or worse, yes…but at least we'll have a chance to stop them! And…maybe I can figure out a way to reverse the effects of the scrolls…if it's already been done."

_No…no…the illness is making her mad, Ron thought mournfully to himself. Yet Hermione's eyes had suddenly become clear again, and her gaze was focused and burning with resolve._

"We're on the steps of the dungeons again, Ron," Hermione said with grim determination, pushing herself away from the wall and standing shakily by herself. "Except this time I'm not a seventeen-year-old girl. I'm ready…and I'm _willing_ to murder this time, if I have to."

Ron mouthed wordlessly, helplessly. The sun was sinking below the horizon. Time was slipping away from him. Hermione was slipping away from him.

Slowly, he walked over to her and drew her towards him fiercely, clutching her robes and her hair. Ron felt Hermione's cold lips on his cheek, and then she drew away, fixing him with that intense look again.

"Moody would have my head if he knew I was trying this," Ron muttered huskily, shaking his head. "Flying right into the spider's web, he would say…"

"But there's a chance we can stop them," Hermione reminded him. "There's a hope."

Ron swallowed painfully. "Then we'll try."

Holding her tightly, Ron squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the shadowy unknown below him. He didn't know what awaited them there, or if Hermione's hunch was even right at all. They could end up Apparating into the ground below Stark's house, for all he knew. Ron tried to shut out that unpleasant mental picture.

"Ready?" Hermione whispered.

"Ready."

Then there was only blackness.

***

Had it not been for solid ground beneath Ron's feet, he would not have known that he had arrived at their destination, wherever that was. He was still enveloped in darkness, even when his eyes flew open. But at least he wasn't buried in several feet of earth. One thing was cause for alarm, however; Hermione's body was no longer pressed against his. They must have been separated during Disapparation. Unconsciously shaking, Ron swiftly drew his wand and moved blindly forwards through the darkness. He would not use his wand until he absolutely needed it. He could have been surrounded by enemies for all he knew, and he couldn't let his voice betray him.

Ron carefully reached out and groped for a wall to follow. Finding a rough, stone surface, he began to slowly move forward again in the hope that he would somehow find Hermione.

It wasn't Hermione he found.

"Stop," a voice commanded sharply in the darkness behind him. Ron froze, his muscles tensing. His grip tightening on his wand, Ron readied himself to spin around and pounce on his discoverer. But a muffled, decidedly female-sounding noise, also behind him, gave him pause.

"I have the girl," the male voice said coldly. The words rang in Ron's ears. "Drop your wand."

Ron felt himself lose all feeling in his arms. Quite unintentionally, he did drop his wand. It clattered to the floor, and Ron was too frozen with fear to go after it or try anything. He heard Hermione make another frustrated noise; Ron supposed the man behind him had his hand clapped over her mouth, and, most likely, his wand pointed at her.

"Walk," the voice barked. Ron chanced a brief glance behind him, his heart hammering. A dim light was shining from his discoverer's wand, illuminating a tall, balding man in crimson robes. Ron's mouth grew dry; the man indeed had his hand over Hermione's lips, his wand pressed to her throat, and his hand clenched firmly around her arm. He nudged Hermione roughly and she stumbled forward. Ron slowly turned back around, hands in the air, and obediently marched away from his wand towards what he was now sure was his doom. Hopelessness began to eat away at him as he continued down the dark tunnel towards a flickering light at the end of it.

Ron's eyes began to adjust to the light at the end of the tunnel, and he, his attacker, and Hermione soon emerged into an enormous, circular room that was, in design and feel, somewhat similar to the Hogwarts dungeons. But the similarities ended there, and had Ron not been so despondent and afraid, his jaw would have fallen open in awe.

Carved into the cold, stone walls of the circular chamber were figures and symbols which were undoubtedly Scurian. The strange language covered every inch of the walls and the high ceiling. A ring of torches surrounded the walls of the circular chamber, casting flickering shadows of the Scurian symbols onto the floor and over Ron's face.

In the centre of the enormous chamber was yet another ring, but this one was of crimson figures, their hoods pulled over their faces. They were gathered around a tall, silver platform, which was elevated above the crimson circle. The only thing visible on the platform was a table of stone, also covered in etchings of Scurian. Upon this table lay the five Scrolls of Scuro.

Standing behind the stone table, in robes of silver, was Dameon Stark. He was smirking.

Ron fought the sudden murderous rage that overtook him; had Hermione's safety not been at stake, he would have darted into that circle of crimson figures and moved both heaven and hell just to get to Stark and strangle him with his bare hands. Ron's wand was gone, but he wouldn't have wanted to mess about with wands anyway – all he desired was Dameon Stark's blood on his hands, and to wipe that smirk from his disgusting face forever.

But, behind him, Hermione had a wand to her throat, so Ron swallowed the bile that rose into his mouth and buried his murderous thoughts. He stood erect and unflinching, his fists clenched and his eyes glinting with the violent temptations that he'd managed to ignore.

"Professors Weasley and Granger," Stark greeted them, his rich voice echoing in the circular chamber. He stepped down from his platform of silver and flashed his bright smile. Gone, however, was any semblance of friendliness in the over-rated smile; instead, it was sinister and conveyed a kind of sick pleasure.

"That will do, Eustace," Stark said, nodding to the man who had captured them. Eustace shoved Hermione next to Ron and then took his place in the circle. Ron caught Hermione, who was breathing hard again, and held her tightly, though he refused to break his eye contact with Stark. Ron stared his enemy down, seething with fury. He briefly considered running now that there was no wand pointed at Hermione; but a second glance at the ring of Stark's crimson supporters erased any such thoughts. They all had their wands obediently pointed at himself and Hermione.

"I must say, I am amazed to see you two here…" Stark paused thoughtfully and gave them a scrutinizing look. "And yet, somehow, I'm not surprised. I'm at a loss as to how you found out where we were, or how to get down here…but it's not altogether shocking, since you have quite the talent of interfering in everything, don't you?"

Hermione clung to Ron, her chest heaving as she sucked in fast, sharp breaths. Stark's bright eyes quickly flickered over to her, and he practically glowed with glee.

"It's amazing to see Malady's effects first-hand," he breathed in excitement, as if not daring to believe that what he had done had actually worked. He took a few steps forward, breaking through his ring of supporters, towards Hermione and Ron. Ron had just made up his mind to obey his murderous inclinations if Stark laid a finger on Hermione's head, but the Minister for Magic candidate stopped a few inches away from the two of them.

"I should probably dispose of you two," Stark remarked with an air of indifference. "But we have another use for you still, Miss Granger. My mentor will want to keep you around, no doubt, just to be sure that the remaining scrolls do their jobs when the time comes."

Ron briefly contemplated Dameon's use of the word 'mentor', and wondered if he was speaking about Malfoy. But then Stark gave Hermione a sickening smile, and she shivered in Ron's arms, refusing to meet Stark's eyes. Ron felt nauseous knowing that part of that man still resided inside her due to the Imperius curse. He couldn't imagine how Hermione felt. 

"And I suppose we can keep you around as well, Mr. Weasley," Stark said casually. "You've been nothing but a thorn in our sides all year, and though it would be fun to see you suffer, you make quite a nice little stand for Professor Granger to lean against. So I think we'll let you live for a bit longer."

"You…" Ron growled, unable to properly form any other word. Like Hermione, he was shaking, but with rage. "You…"

"Articulate, aren't you?" Stark smirked. He abruptly turned his back to Ron and faced his circle of followers. "Has the sun set?" he demanded sharply.

"Not yet, Dameon," a rather pudgy crimson figure answered, fidgeting. "A few more minutes."

Stark sighed in frustration and returned his attention to Ron and Hermione, his face returning to its pleasant expression. "As you can see, I've had to surround myself with quite the assortment of idiots…all Pureblood and very respectable, of course, but not the brightest bunch, as my mentor says," Stark said with a little smirk. He had the air of someone who had stumbled upon power and control, and was abusing the privileges that came with his newfound authority. "With the exception of Draco, that is," Stark added as an afterthought. "He's been quite good, and quite useful. Of course, my mentor suspects that the main reason he wished to join the Dark Hand was to see you two and Potter suffer, but I really couldn't care less. His money and his ideas were very helpful, no matter what his motives were."

Ron knew that they were in danger. He knew that soon, the scrolls would be read, and all would be lost. But he was in no position to try anything at that moment, and he suddenly felt an insatiable thirst for some answers. So, with renewed control, Ron looked Dameon Stark in the eye, and evenly asked, "I suppose all this," he nodded at the room, "was your filthy grandfather's doing."

"That's right, you've done your research, haven't you?" Stark said with a cold laugh. "Yes, my grandfather built this chamber years ago, with the noble intent of performing the Scurian rituals here. Unfortunately, his work was never completed, and my father failed to follow in his footsteps, no thanks to _your people," he spat, glaring at Ron. But Stark quickly smiled again and was quite conversational and pleasant once more. "However, tonight my grandfather's dream will be fulfilled…the Muggles will suffer, and this time, the effects are going to be forever."_

Ron's stomach churned with hatred, but he drew himself up to his full height and stared Stark down. "I suppose you fancy yourself to be _so clever, don't you?" he hissed. "Changing your identity so that you wouldn't be affiliated with your filthy relatives in Azkaban, masquerading as a Minister for Magic candidate, reviving the Dark Hand, framing Nicholas Foran, using an innocent woman to steal the scrolls for you…you must be very proud of yourself." Ron's voice dripped with sarcasm, and his eyes flashed with abhorrence._

"Masquerading as a candidate?" Stark exclaimed, laughing openly. "Oh no, Mr. Weasley, I _am_ a candidate. And I _will be Minister for Magic. With the Muggles out of the picture, I will reinvent the Ministry, and both the wizarding and the Muggle worlds will be my playground," Stark finished greedily._

Seeing Ron's scepticism and cold, steely gaze, Dameon shook his head. "Don't you see, Weasley? Without Muggles, the world is ours for the taking. With myself as Minister, and without the stain of Mudbloods to spoil it, it will be a perfect world…_my perfect world…" Dameon said dreamily. Ron tightened his grip on Hermione, who had fallen silent, though she was still breathing with difficulty._

"And yet, I cannot take all the credit here," Stark confessed solemnly. "I had help, you see, from a very unlikely source. I daresay that you haven't guessed who has helped me either…Merlin knows _these_ buffoons haven't," he said scornfully, nodding at his crimson-clad supporters. "None of this could have happened without his help. He is my mentor, my teacher…my future," Dameon said softly, a smile playing over his lips.

"That will do, Dameon," called a voice. Ron searched swiftly for its owner, but he saw nothing but shadows of Scurian figures, thrown across the room by the light of the torches. "I daresay it's the best introduction I could have hoped for. Perhaps I've taught you something after all."

The ring of men in crimson seemed to have become agitated and excited, murmuring amongst themselves. Stark snapped at them in Scurian, and Hermione flinched. The voices of the Dark Hand died away, and the crimson ring was silent once more. Stark eagerly walked over to an archway in the circular wall which Ron had not noticed before. There was a shadowed figure standing there in robes of gold. As the figure stepped out from under the archway, Ron could see that his golden robes shone in the torchlight, and had Scurian figures and symbols along the arms and the collar. Ron unconsciously squinted, trying to get a better look at the man; on closer inspection, he could see that there were deep lines in the man's handsome face, and that there was genuine power in his green eyes, an unquestionable authority that Dameon Stark, for all his talk, was sorely lacking.

The two men, one is silver and one in gold, walked past the whispering circle of the Dark Hand, towards Ron and Hermione. Had Ron not known that Galen Ademon was dead, he would have immediately assumed that the man at Stark's side was his father, their resemblance was so strong. In fact, as Ron's eyes travelled from Dameon Stark's young face to the older man's lined face, he began to see that the resemblance was uncanny.

A far-fetched thought suddenly occurred to Ron, and his heart turned to ice. Slowly, his eyes raked Stark's face – he had a few very faint, scattered freckles across the bridge of his nose, the only imperfection on his flawless face. Ron turned his gaze over to the older man, and saw that he too had a faded bridge of freckles across his nose. There were the same number, and the freckles were in the exact same places.

Ron stared in disbelief, feeling his jaw go slack. For he realized he was staring at an older version of Dameon Stark.

The older Stark grinned widely, eyes flashing with satisfaction. "Ah, he sees it now," he smirked. "Things are beginning to make sense, are they?"

Behind them, the ring of Dark Hand members had begun to whisper amongst themselves again, evidently as shocked and stunned as Ron was at seeing a carbon copy of their supposed leader suddenly stroll into the room. Ron's heart leapt as he realized that many of them had lowered their wands. His mind raced, trying to figure out a way that he could use the distraction to his advantage; but the next second, the older Stark had whirled around and thundered, "Silence!" The men's whispers immediately stopped, and a hush descended upon the chamber.

Rowan Richardson's words suddenly came floating back into Ron's memory. _It's difficult to explain…it's like a feeling more than anything. Something's wrong…with the past, with the future…Professor Trelawney says I'm just over-imaginative, but I know something's wrong…_

"That's how you knew," Hermione croaked, her breath coming in ragged gasps. It was the first thing she had said since they had been brought into the circular chamber. "That's how you knew…where the scrolls were, about the chamber they were hidden in, that I would be at the banquet…that you could use me to get to them…" She turned weakly to the older Stark and stared him down, the fire in her eyes not yet diminished despite her weakened state.

The Stark clad in gold clapped his hands together, amused. "She's quite bright, for a Mudblood!" he exclaimed, laughing. His younger counterpart immediately joined in, his face flushed and pleased. "Yes, Mudblood, you're right. I have conquered time itself to come back and redo what I should have done as a young man…to fix my mistakes."

_I think it's because of my feeling, Rowan's voice continued in Ron's head,__ like the future's…muddled. Like something wasn't supposed to happen, and now it has, and it's altered everything._

Ron suddenly caught on, and the realization was like a slap in the face. Suddenly, Rowan's inability to predict the future made sense.

The older Stark was from the future. He had used a Time Turner to travel to his past.

The idea was so far-fetched and fantastic that Ron did not believe it at first. Yet the proof was standing right before his eyes, smirking at him. Stark had broken a thousand Ministry laws, not to mention the laws of space and time, but he had done it – he had managed to travel to his past, and had joined forces with his younger self to accomplish the things he had failed to do as a youth himself. He had beaten fate. It explained Rowan's inability to See anything connected to the scrolls, and her feelings of confusion about the future; Stark had messed around with the past, making the future muddled and uncertain. It explained how the younger Dameon Stark had known some of the things he couldn't have possibly known.

"Youth is wasted on the young, you know," the older Stark told them, almost conversationally. "I did not realize the weapons at my disposal when I was a young man…when I was young Dameon here," he gestured to his younger counterpart with a nod of his head. "Looks, charm, a certain elegance with words…I squandered all of these assets of mine in my youth. I was driven to continue the Dark Hand's legacy, to continue my grandfather's work…but I was young, and foolish, and hadn't the faintest clue what I was doing."

The older man sighed wistfully. "In my past, the Ministry of Magic succeeded in keeping the Scrolls of Scuro from me…and eventually, the secret to destroying the scrolls was discovered, by a certain Hogwarts professor…" Stark trailed off and his eyes briefly flickered to Hermione, a sneer beginning to form on his lips. "In my past, the Scrolls of Scuro were finally destroyed, and Scuro's dream destroyed along with them.

"So I lost my chance, you see," the older Stark continued mournfully, his sneer fading. He was speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, including the hooded men who were his followers. They looked almost as shocked and confused as Ron felt. But the members of the Dark Hand did not feel Ron's rage and his fury, building up inside of him and writhing like a thousand snakes in his gut.

"It was only after it was too late that I discovered the opportunities I had missed. Once the scrolls were destroyed, the Ministry made the fact that they had indeed existed public, perhaps to gain support. The Ministry _has always enjoyed flaunting their successes in the faces of the public, after all," Stark commented, rolling his eyes. "The entire heroic story was on the front pages of the __Daily Prophet, and eventually, through brief snatches of careless conversation I caught at the Ministry of Magic, I discovered all the details – where the scrolls had been hidden, all about the chamber they had been hidden in – and I woefully realized the opportunities I had missed." The elder Stark's eyes glistened suddenly with pride. "But as time passed, and I grew both older and wiser, I began to think…what if I could reverse my fate? What if I could go back, with all my collected knowledge and wisdom, and seize the opportunities I had missed? A Time Turner was not difficult to secure, as I was a well-respected member of the Ministry of Magic by that time…"_

_Yes, Ron thought in disgust. _Limits mean nothing to Stark. He can change his identity as he pleases…travel through time if he so desires…__

"And so, I travelled back twenty years, returning to my own youth," the older Stark continued. "Under my tutelage, young Dameon has flourished – he has all but secured a position as Minister for Magic, something I never could have done in my time, and, with my help, he has managed to resurrect the Dark Hand and collect all five Scrolls of Scuro." Stark sighed in contentment and pride. "Through him, you see, I've seized my missed opportunities."

"What, the opportunities to inflict chaos and illness and death on every Muggle and Muggle-born in the world?" Ron hissed, feeling his anger begin to boil at the surface. "The opportunities to frame and control innocent people in order to get what you want?" Ron was breathing almost as heavily as the woman in his arms, and he could taste bile again.

"Ah yes," Stark said softly. "That was one of my more brilliant ideas…you see, I knew the scrolls were at Hogwarts, but what use was that information to me if I could not get into the school? Albus Dumbledore had taken every precaution imaginable to protect his precious school and the scrolls. But then…" he chuckled, smiling wickedly at Hermione. "I recalled a banquet I had attended as a youth. Not as a candidate, unfortunately; in my time, I could never have become a Minister for Magic candidate. Under my guidance, however, young Dameon here has flourished and accomplished what I never could have as a youth…but this is besides the point.

"At this banquet, I was pleased to make the acquaintance of Miss Granger here, and years later I realized that she was yet another chance that had slipped away. Had I known then that the Scrolls were hidden in the school where she worked, I could have used her to get them for me. She was the perfect puppet – naïve, trusting, intelligent – and Dumbledore would _never suspect one of his most precious teachers." Stark grinned at the shivering mess that was Hermione in Ron's arms, and laughed once more. "So when I returned to my past, of course, I decided to use her after all. It was, however, young Dameon's idea to frame Nicholas Foran to cover our tracks. Needless to say, Foran didn't miss the few grey hairs we managed to pluck from his head._

"But what intrigues me," said the older Stark pensively, "is how you ended up…here." He raised his eyebrows to indicate the chamber.

"Your young friend here forgot to change his clothes," Ron said dryly, feeling quite a lot of satisfaction as the younger Stark paled.

His older counterpart paused for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, and then realization dawned on him. The elder Stark scowled at his younger self. "Idiot!" he hissed. "Your robes, you fool!"

But just as he raised his hand to strike the younger Stark, his brow suddenly smoothed, and he returned his attention to Ron and Hermione. "So you knew that my young friend was behind putting Professor Granger here under Imperius, and you hurried to the only place you could think of finding him – his home. I suppose you ended up down here purely by accident," the older Stark continued lightly. "Well, no matter. You will not be going anywhere, and your friends are likely wandering aimlessly through the mansion right now. _No one will stop us tonight…my greatest ambitions will finally be fulfilled…" Two pairs of green eyes glimmered with greed as the two Starks exchanged looks._

"Noble ambitions," Ron spat sarcastically.

The younger Stark narrowed his eyes and took an angry step towards Ron; but his older double shot out an arm and prevented him from doing anything rash. "You and I have very different ideas about what is noble and what is not," the older Stark said carefully, staring Ron down. "What we are doing _is noble, Mr. Weasley. I was greedy and selfish as a young man, as you no doubt have seen in young Dameon here…but with age comes wisdom, and I have gained much of it. Do you not see what ridding the world of the Mudbloods will do for us? We won't have to hide any longer. Our people will be _free_," he stressed, sucking in a deep breath of air._

Ron could only stare. "You sick bastard," he began slowly, venom dripping from his voice. "You _sick_ – "

"Enough," the older Stark said curtly, holding up his hand to silence Ron. His eyes, once again, travelled over to Hermione. "I see you cannot be persuaded, Mr. Weasley," he said with a trace of disappointment. But Stark then suddenly laughed, turning around with a flutter of golden robes. "But I'm wasting valuable time and energy by speaking to people who will be dead before the night is over. And I daresay my brilliance has been lost on these imbeciles," he said, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the ring of crimson figures. "And to think…you were my friends as a youth," the older Stark said softly, pausing before the hooded figures. "How people change…"

Hermione's hands were like ice in Ron's; he was losing her, and fast. Her breaths were short and quick, and after facing the men who had used her, she was more sickly-looking and drained than she had been in weeks.

Still, a new feeling was burning in Ron's chest – it was hope. The scrolls had not yet been read, and they still had a weapon the Starks had not counted on: Hermione. They did not know that the Imperius curse had left a residual of the younger Dameon in her, or that she could speak Scurian. Perhaps there was still a way…

A hooded man suddenly Apparated into their midst, and scurried towards the two Starks, his head bowed. An expression of shock flitted over his face at seeing two pairs of the same eyes staring back at him, and he only managed to shakily utter, "The sun has set."

"Then it is time," the older Stark called, his voice reverberating in the room. He glanced at his younger self. "Come, Dameon. Or rather, _Ulysses…for tonight you are Ulysses Ademon once more. We both are." He smiled with pride at his younger self, and then strolled purposefully through the ring of his followers and climbed to the silver platform with his younger counterpart at his heels. There he stood, with his golden arms stretched towards the heavens. Ron's heart leapt into his mouth; he was really going to do it. Ron unconsciously took a step forward, only to find half a dozen wands were pointed at him yet again._

The older Stark closed his eyes, his fists still raised to the heavens, and began chanting in Scurian. The language suddenly sounded ominous and foul to Ron's ears, rather than mysterious or seductive.

"_Dornatte__ baradur," Stark chanted, his eyes tightly shut, "__archnipara__ rei perdur, lastia stringiarre lur…"_

The words were harsh when spoken by Stark, and Ron felt Hermione flinch every time he repeated the sinister-sounding words. A pale, crimson light illuminated Stark's face; Ron could not see its origin, but it was there, now encompassing Stark as he continued to speak. The ring of Stark's followers, as well as his young counterpart, took up the chant, until they were speaking at a fast, fervent pace, and the crimson light was increasing. Stark's eyes suddenly flew open, and while his followers continued chanting, he turned his gaze towards the scrolls lying on the table before him.

Ron froze in panic and fear. This was it. It was going to be done, and he was both wandless and helpless. It came down to this moment, and he was completely powerless. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, and the chamber was beginning to swim before Ron's eyes as Stark read one scroll, and then another and another. The crimson light began to increase in strength until Ron had to shut his eyes against its brilliance. Hermione had suddenly gone limp in his arms, and Ron couldn't even open his eyes to check on her.

This was not how it was supposed to end. After all he had been through…after all _they had been through, he, Harry, and Hermione, it was not supposed to end this way. The light burned through Ron's eyelids and into his skull, but he forced himself to open his eyes again. Hermione was still conscious, but barely, and was limp in his arms. The older Stark was barely visible, consumed by the blinding, crimson light. His voice was beginning to be drowned out by a dull roar that seemed to come from the scrolls themselves. Ron's senses were assaulted by the roaring, the faint but incessant chanting, the sound of Stark's voice, and that unbearable light. He shut his eyes against it all again._

Suddenly, the light dimmed and faded, and the roaring abruptly died away. Stark stopped reading. _Please let something have gone wrong…_Ron prayed fervently, venturing to open an eye again. _Please…let the scrolls have burned up in the light…let Stark be dead…_

But the older Stark was still standing, his fists still raised as if in triumph, his eyes wild and his breathing laboured. Everything was eerily quiet. But the silence only lasted a moment, for the next second a sound like thunder shook the chamber, and the crimson light reappeared, though this time it was not as brilliant. It started with Stark and began to pulse outwards in a circle, much like a ripple in a pond would. The ring of endless light grew larger and larger in circumference, slowly covering the chamber. Stark snapped out of it and, excited that the scrolls seemed to be working, he began to read again with renewed vigour.

Suddenly, to Ron's surprise, he felt Hermione's body tense again, losing its limpness. She released his hands and straightened. She was still trembling, but she seemed to have been suddenly empowered by a feverish strength, and her small fists were clenched by her side.

"I understand now," she whispered to him, her eyes alight with hope. "Read between the lines…every second line of the scrolls, if you put them together, makes sense. It's ridiculously simple. To reverse the effects of the scrolls, you literally have to read between the lines…read out every second line of each of the scrolls."

Ron stared at her - heard the hope in her voice, saw the sudden determined strength she seemed to have gained - and he felt the same hope too. Her theory sounded improbable, but she had been right about everything thus far. And if there was a chance…it was worth taking.

The crimson light continued to spread. It was filling the room, and Ron felt something like a hot wind blow by him as the light poured over himself and Hermione. She briefly gagged, as if being choked by the crimson light, and then closed her eyes. Ron instinctively shook her to awaken her, feeling panic and fear grip him; but the next second she had opened her eyes again, and the same determination and strength she had shown before returned as she straightened. The crimson light moved past them, seeping through the walls, travelling throughout the entire house and into the world, where it would do its damage.

"Is he finished?" Ron whispered under his breath. Stark was repeating the same mantra he had chanted at the beginning of the ritual. 

"_Dornatte__ baradur…" Stark called to the heavens._

"He's read them all. I think he's just finishing the ritual," Hermione whispered throatily, taking a deep breath. She gripped Ron's wrist. "The damage is done…but if those letters that man showed me were genuine…there's still hope." She fixed him with that deep gaze. "You have to let me do this, Ron. You have to let me try."

_"Archnipara rei perdur…"_

Ron tried to block out the horrible sound of Stark's chanting. "I know," he murmured. His heart hurt. "How are we going to get you up there to read what you need to, though?"

Hermione's grip on his wrist tightened. Ron tried not to wince; her grip was like iron, despite her illness. She seemed to be drawing on hope to fuel herself. "Remember when we duelled?"

"Hermione, this is _not_ the time to reminisce."

"No," she hissed, her eyes bright. "You summoned your wand back to yourself. You said that some wizards don't necessarily need a wand to do magic, and you were right, I looked into it…"

Somehow, Ron wasn't surprised.

"…magic comes from wizards and witches, not wands," Hermione continued. "Their wand is only there to channel the magic into a usable form through spells and charms and curses."

_"Lastia stringiarre lur…"_

"So what are you saying?" Ron asked, beginning to see a glimmer of hope.

"Try to summon one of their wands to you," Hermione whispered, nodding to the ring of crimson figures. They were still busy chanting, and they seemed to have forgotten about Ron and Hermione, though their wands were still pointed at them. "Then create some sort of distraction, Stun Stark, and I'll run up there."

It was insane, not to mention nearly impossible. But there was still that chance that it would work, and even the slightest of chances was worth taking. Ron nodded mutely, his throat suddenly going very, very dry. Hermione's expression was solemn and firm. She slowly uncurled her pale fingers from his wrist, and, still trembling slightly, stood upright, ready to run.

Ron stared at an outstretched wand in one of the hooded figures' hands, trying to will it to himself as he had his own wand in the duel with Hermione. He remembered times when he'd inadvertently done magic when he was younger. The time when, in a fury, he had accidentally set Fred's hair on fire after the twins had stolen his teddy and turned it into a spider. The time when he had stormed up to his room after receiving a punishment from his mother, and the door had magically burst open for him, flying off its hinges in the process. Only a night ago, his Firebolt had magically been summoned to him in his panic to stop Hermione.

Concentrating hard, Ron tried to harness all of the fury, hatred, disgust, panic, and fear that he had felt that night, until a ball of emotions was churning within him. He remembered Nicholas Foran's anger, Harry's pain, the face of every Muggle and Muggle-born he had ever met, and finally, Hermione.

Hermione could _die. He could lose her forever. And that thought did it._

A cry of surprise tore from the throat of one of the hooded figures as his wand was ripped from his grasp by an invisible force. The chanting of some of his companions faltered, yet the older Stark spoke still, eyes shut in concentration and obliviousness. The man's wand flew into Ron's hand, and the moment his fingers closed around the polished wood, Ron harnessed all of those emotions stirring within him and hollered, "_Stupeficadus_ Explicado!_"_

There was a tremendous noise, and then a light burst from Ron's wand which was as bright as the crimson light from the scrolls had originally been. It was a golden orb of brilliance that hurled towards the crimson ring and the two Starks. The older Stark's eyes flew open and widened; the golden light was rapidly speeding towards him, and he could do nothing about it. Upon collision with its prey Ron's spell burst with a fantastic noise, sending tiny golden fireworks spiralling into the air and illuminating the dim chamber. The spell Stunned each and every one of them; one by one the men dropped like flies, falling unconscious to the ground.

Breathing hard, his eyes glimmering with triumph, Ron lowered his wand. Hermione hesitated only for the briefest of moments, and then ran as fast as she possibly could towards the stone table, her robes flying behind her. Ron slowly followed, his wand at the ready and his heart hammering with exhilaration. He had just performed a mass Stunning spell, not an easy feat. Even Moody could not do it, and had the situation been different, Ron would have glowed with pride. But despite his triumph, they were not still safe. Concentrating the Stunning spell on one victim rendered that person unconscious, but performing it on a much larger scale made the spell individually weak. The spell, unfortunately, had only knocked the men out briefly. Already, the crimson figures on the ground were beginning to stir - groggy, but still armed and dangerous.

Ron twirled his borrowed wand between his fingers, wincing as he surveyed his enemy's numbers. The odds had just rapidly decreased in his favour. He would need help. But the Aurors couldn't possibly find the chamber; they'd have to Apparate down to it, as he and Hermione had done. And how would they possibly know…?

_Harry, Ron suddenly thought. He had called him before - what would stop Harry from being summoned to him again? _Harry, you great prat, you had better not be hurt or killed or anything…__

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw the older Stark slowly rise near the stone table, moaning. He opened a bleary eye and spotted Hermione clambering up the silver platform with wild, feverish determination. His eyes widened in panic.

"Stop the girl!" Stark screamed.

_Because I need your help, Ron thought wildly, _now!__

Ron spun, disarming a hooded man who was aiming at Hermione, and noted that she had reached the scrolls, breathless but still standing. Her face was shiny with perspiration, and her eyes were wild but determined. Soon, her clear, high voice rang out in the circular chamber, speaking Scurian with such passion and purpose that the language no longer sounded foreboding or evil to Ron. Nothing coming from Hermione's lips could sound remotely evil.

A series of soft pops suddenly filled Ron with relief and joy. He Stunned another hooded man who had managed to get his bearings, and turned to see the most beautiful sight in the world: Harry, Diana, Moody, and Sirius. The cavalry had arrived.

"You called?" Harry said breathlessly, glancing around at the situation. His eyes widened, but he wasted no time in Disarming and Stunning two men on his right. Ron briefly noted that Harry's trousers were soaked with blood beneath his robes.

"My, my," Diana said in shock, her dark eyes taking in the dim chamber, the crimson figures rising to their feet one by one, and the silver platform upon which Hermione stood, reading the scrolls. "You _do get around, Weasley."_

"_Dimenticatte__ rellai," Hermione's fair voice rang out as she moved on to the next scroll, reading every second line, "_tournur___ carnolus – "_

It was only then that Sirius noticed the two Starks; the older Dameon was barking orders to the younger, and both of them had drawn their wands, advancing upon Hermione. "What in the _hell?!_" Sirius exclaimed.

"No time for explanations!" Ron breathed. "Just _do not let them get to Hermione!"_

They flung themselves into battle for the second time that night, four Aurors against what seemed like a sea of crimson figures. But the member of the Dark Hand were groggy and slow from being Stunned by Ron's spell, and they had almost no fight left in them, whereas the Aurors fought with everything they had. The crimson light from the scrolls had vanished. Now, softly glowing from the Scrolls of Scuro upon the stone table was a pale blue light instead, which began pulsating and rippling outwards, illuminating the chamber with a healing light.

"_Remperatur__ rei morrando mortei," Hermione continued, increasing her pace, "__rigavortole__ tournatte – "_

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw the older Stark whisper something to his younger counterpart, and then slip away into the shadows. The younger Stark stood very still for a moment, and then clenched his jaw, determined to prove himself. He sprinted through the battle towards the silver podium where Hermione stood. Frantic, Ron ran towards him.

"_Magistiatarus__ rei lasciatur – " Hermione was beginning to sound breathless and choked, and her hands clutched the stone table. Her adrenaline must have begun to wear out, and her illness was catching up to her once more. The young Stark was raising his wand…Ron raised his own and prepared to stop him._

"_Expelliarmus__!" a far-off voice shouted. Ron's borrowed wand was ripped from his grasp. He paused only for a moment in surprise, and then glanced over to the shadows. The older Stark was lurking there like the coward he was, his wand raised. He gave Ron a triumphant smirk._

"_Dornatte__ baradur!" Hermione cried out, slowly losing her grip on the stone table and going glassy-eyed as she repeated what had been Stark's opening and closing chant. "_Arachnipara___ – "_

"_Avada__ – " the young Stark began, his wand pointed at Hermione's heart._

"_No!" Ron screamed. He sprinted forwards and threw himself at the younger Stark, tackling him as he began to utter the final word to the killing curse. Ron shut his eyes as the two of them fell to the ground, expecting Stark to finish the curse, only his wand would be pointed at Ron instead. But there was no blinding green light, no feeling of his soul being ripped out of his body. There was only Hermione's voice crying triumphantly, "_Lastia_ _stringiarre___ lur!", and then a crackling sound as the blue ring of light suddenly burst outwards through the walls of the chamber, going out into the world to undo the damage the crimson light had done. Ron heard only the din of the battle for a moment, and then the sound of Hermione's body crumpling to the ground. She had fainted, finally beaten by the illness, just as she had conquered it._

Ron dared to open his eyes, and cried out in surprise as he found himself eye-to-eye with the younger Dameon Stark. But Stark's eyes were empty and vacant; he and Ron had fallen to the ground in a tangled mess, and Stark had smashed his skull on the edge of the silver platform when they had fallen. Blood slowly dripped down his forehead and the side of his face, and his fair hair was sticky with the crimson liquid, but Ron could see from the rising and falling of his chest that he was, unfortunately, still alive. Ron briefly considered finishing the deed, but then changed his mind; he had gotten what he wanted – Stark's blood on his hands. That was enough. Ulysses Ademon could rot in Azkaban with his father and grandfather.

Ron quickly disentangled himself from the unconscious Stark and ran to Hermione. He fell to his knees and gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Ron briefly worried that she had not reversed the scrolls' effects at all; she had fainted, and her face still looked deathly pale. But her pulse was still strong. Perhaps it took time for the scrolls' effects to wear off. Ron firmly accepted this explanation; it was foolish, he told himself, to think that she would just bounce back, after all. She had been on the brink of death with the illness.

The battle was all but won. Most of the Dark Hand was either unconscious or had surrendered, and the Aurors had only to deal with a few determined strays. The younger Stark still lay unconscious and bleeding at the foot of the silver platform, and Ron caught the older Stark beginning to slink away quietly, fingering an object around his neck.

"Harry!" Ron cried. Harry whirled around, his black hair flying into his eyes, and spotted the older Stark attempting to make his getaway.

"_Stupefy!" Harry yelled. His aim was true; the spell hit the older Stark in the back and caused him to fall forwards onto his face. Harry jogged over to double check that the older Stark was indeed Stunned._

Ron sighed and held Hermione to him. She stirred in his arms and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Upon seeing his face, she sighed in relief and threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

It was over.

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At nineteen pages on Word, this chapter has been the longest I've ever written.

I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed the climactic ending…the fic's not over, but the action/cliffies are, I'm afraid. Well? What did you think of the plot twistness? Too improbable? Too hokey? Too crazy? Do let me know, and once again, sorry for the lack of shout-outs…I'm just trying to get this sucker done at this point.

Review like crazy! This is the chapter where it counts! Especially if I fail my Calc exam this afternoon, in which case I'll come home and cry and reviews will be all that can console me!


	23. Back to the Future

**Author's Notes:** Well guys, I'm going for it! Call me kooky, but exams are over and all, and I'm going to spend all today writing, hoping to get this thing done. After this chapter there's another short chapter and an epilogue…even if I get all the real chapters done, and I leave the epilogue for tomorrow, I'll be happy. Consequently, I don't really have time to write amusing author's notes or review songs or do shout-outs or anything. My humble apologies. But know this: I've read each and every review like, 50 times, and if it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't be typing my arse off right now in a frantic attempt to finish this before Book 5. Thanks so much for all your criticism, support, and love. ^_^ Awww…

The chapter title really has absolutely nothing to do with the chapter, as a matter of fact. I think I just put that phrase in there, quite by accident, and when I read the chapter over I was like, "Hey, cool! I think I shall name the chapter that in honour of Michael J. Fox and co." Thus, crazy chapter title.

This chapter is for all the people who like Diana, or who have come to ship Harry/Diana. I'm still amazed that people actually accepted my OC paired with Harry Potter. That's very rare, and I thank y'all! So enjoy. ^_^

***

Diana awoke with a pounding headache and a very sore shin. She groaned, eyes still closed, and stretched her legs. She was lying down, but she wasn't in her bed. Daring to open one eye, Diana winced as bright sunlight temporarily blinded her. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the bright room she was in, and then looked around, trying to remember how the hell she had ended up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

She was lying on a fairly comfortable cot in the hospital wing, still fully clothed and wearing her boots. Judging by the bright light that burst through the large windows, it was early morning. Surrounding her was a tightly-drawn wall of curtains. Still lying down, Diana raised her arms over her head and stretched them, the details of the previous night slowly coming back to her.

Moments after she and Potter had finally bumped into Moody and Black after their confrontation with Malfoy, a queer look had suddenly come over Harry's face. With sudden alarm, he had only blurted out, "Ron needs us," had rattled off some co-ordinates, and then had Disapparated. Mad-Eye, Diana, and Sirius had quickly followed, only to Apparate into the midst of battle. Somehow, the four of them had managed to defeat a crowd of crimson Dark Hand members, who had seemed rather weak and weary, now that Diana thought about it, while Granger had read aloud the Scrolls of Scuro, evidently reversing their effects. Diana still wasn't absolutely sure of how _that had worked._

The biggest surprise of the night was finding out that Potter and Weasley had been right – Stark had indeed been running the show, and not just one of him…_two_ of him. Diana hadn't quite caught all the details, but apparently a misused Time Turner was involved.

Once everything had settled down, and everyone who should have been Stunned was Stunned, the M.L.E.S. and A.M.R.S. had been called in to mop up the mess. Diana remembered Albus and Crump, the Minister for Magic, arriving sometime around midnight to decide what to do with the older Stark. The consensus had been for someone from the A.M.R.S. to escort him back to the future, where, hopefully, he would find himself in Azkaban.

An unconscious younger Stark, a Petrified Malfoy, and a number of Stunned crimson figures were carted off to London to await trials. Diana vaguely remembered being pushed towards a fireplace by someone from the M.L.E.S, who had explained that all the Aurors were being sent to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey would tend to their wounds. Diana had not been very thrilled at the prospect, but a large welt had begun to form on her head from when Malfoy had slammed her into the fireplace, and so she had reluctantly obeyed. Diana had been too exhausted to remember much else, and just vaguely recollected Madam Pomfrey doing something to her head to stop the red welt from growing, and then giving her something that caused her to fall into a deep sleep.

Diana sat up in the cot, wincing as her exhausted body protested loudly. Her shin throbbed painfully, and Diana rolled up her black pants to survey the damage. True to her predictions, a very large, bluish-purple bruise had already begun to blossom on the back of her right leg. She sighed, swung her legs over the bed, and pushed the curtains aside impatiently.

The hospital wing was quiet and peaceful; the eccentric hospital matron was nowhere in sight, and most of the beds either had curtains drawn around them, or were messy and empty, as if they had recently been slept in and then abandoned. Diana quietly walked through the empty hospital wing, glancing at the empty beds – she noticed Joel's dusty cloak lying by one bed, and Owen's wedding ring lying on a nightstand near one cot. Her fellow Aurors had probably awoken just before she had, and were probably either taking showers, eating breakfast, or terrorizing the students. Diana grinned faintly at the last thought; she hadn't been back to Hogwarts since she had quit her job as Potions Mistress last year, and she decided to perhaps do some terrorizing of her own later. She had a score to settle with White and Ramone.

Curious, Diana quietly reached out and pushed a wall of curtains aside in front of one bed, and then smirked to herself as she beheld the picture before her. Granger was sleeping peacefully in the little cot, tucked firmly in under the covers, her eyes no longer shadowed and her face no longer deathly pale. The colour had returned to her cheeks in only a few short hours; perhaps whatever she had done with the scrolls had worked after all. But the humorous part was Weasley, who was sprawled over top of the covers, sleeping soundly next to her. He cuddled closer to Granger in his sleep, and Diana used all her willpower to resist making some sort of snarky comment that would probably wake them. Shaking her head, but unable to keep from grinning wryly, Diana closed the curtains.

Her gaze was suddenly drawn to the doors leading to the balcony outside the hospital wing. Deciding that some fresh air would be beneficial to her throbbing head, Diana briskly walked towards the doors and quietly pulled them open, stepping onto the balcony and into the crisp, bright, morning.

There was no mistaking the tall figure already outside on the balcony; his messy black hair was damp, probably from showering, and his black cloak was thrown carelessly on the ledge of the balcony, despite the fact that it was February. Potter quickly turned around, and then smiled brightly once he saw it was her. Wordlessly, Diana joined him at the banister, leaning forwards on it. She glanced out at the Hogwarts grounds; though it was February, all the snow had already melted, and the lawns glittered as the sun caught the morning dew. It was not as cool outside as Diana had thought it would be, but the morning breeze was cool on her bare arms nonetheless. She glanced at Potter's wet hair.

"You know, Granger stopped an influenza epidemic…that doesn't mean you can't still catch pneumonia," she commented.

"I just took a shower," Harry explained.

"No way," Diana said in mock surprise.

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned at her, and then returned his gaze to the Hogwarts grounds. "Did you sleep all right?"

"I think Pomfrey may have drugged me. But yes, I suppose I did. Where's everyone else?"

"They said they were going for breakfast, but I suspect that they're really just strolling around telling everyone that they're Aurors so that the kids will look at them adoringly."

"I thought as much too," Diana said, smiling wryly. She glanced over at her partner and took a proper look at him for the first time; she was surprised to see that he had finally shaved his goatee, and he looked very clean and fresh after his shower. She was quite close to him, and she knew he smelled of soap and also faintly of grass from being out in the early morning. Diana mentally slapped herself for being foolish and noticing foolish things, and then returned her gaze to the clear, February sky.

"How's your leg?" she asked lightly.

"Better. Madam Pomfrey put something on it that smelled like old socks and burned like hell, and then the wound closed up."

"Old socks, huh?"

"A better description eludes me at the moment," Harry grinned. His green eyes flickered over to her, and Diana realized that she must have looked like hell; her short, black hair was messy and tangled, and she was fairly certain that her eyes were still puffy with sleep. "How's your head?" he asked.

"Well, it's intact. But I think someone may have taken a sledgehammer to my shin."

Potter cocked his head and glanced downwards. Diana mentally slapped herself again as she realized her right pant leg was still rolled up. Harry crouched down and ran his fingers over the large bruise, whistling and shaking his head. Diana inadvertently shivered as his fingers brushed against her leg. She quickly bent down and rolled down her pant leg, trying to remain indifferent to the fact that Potter had all been caressing her leg. She suddenly realized how completely ridiculous that would have looked to anyone watching.

"Yep, that's definitely a prize-winner," Harry said with a grin, rising to his feet again.

"Think Moody will give me a medal?"

"Undoubtedly."

They briefly exchanged grins and then quickly looked away, returning to staring at the grounds. After last night, there was definitely something different between Diana and her partner, and it was putting her on edge. She dangled her arms over the railing of the balcony, listening to the peaceful silence of the morning.

"So," Diana blurted out, unable to stand the quiet any more. "How do you feel?"

Harry blinked, surprised, but considered this question for a moment. "Relieved, I guess, that it's over," he answered truthfully. "And…I'm glad that I didn't kill Malfoy."

Diana smiled. "I thought you would be."

Harry shook his head grimly. "No, not because I feel bad for him or anything. I want him to live so that he can suffer in Azkaban. Suffer for the rest of his life." Potter's eyes glittered with what looked like malice, but then the fire in his eyes died away and his shoulders slumped. "Is that cruel of me?"

"No," Diana answered bluntly. "He's a bastard."

"Still…people would start having seizures if they knew that Harry Potter liked the idea of someone suffering," Harry said gloomily. "It's not very Gryffindor of me."

"Albus wanted Grindelwald to suffer," Diana pointed out. "It's not cruel of you, it's just human nature." She paused, drumming her fingers on the banister. "Speaking of Albus, whatever happened to him last night?"

"He was trying to get to Crump," Potter explained. "Crump was off somewhere doing a last speech or campaign or something, and Dumbledore went to alert him of the situation. Elections are today, you know."

Diana started; it had totally slipped her mind. "So…does Crump automatically win, seeing as his opponent is currently en route to Azkaban?" she asked sarcastically.

"Probably," Harry shrugged. "Thought they'll likely want to keep all this quiet, so they'll allow the voting to continue as planned. But Crump will just win by default, I suppose, no matter what the votes amount to."

"Stark could have _won_," Diana said slowly, a hint of disgust in her voice. "He could've been our new Minister for Magic right now."

Potter said nothing; the look of disdain on his face was enough of a reply for Diana. They stood there in silence for a few moments, and then Harry suddenly gave a little chuckle.

"What?" Diana demanded, arching an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he grinned, glancing over at her. "It's just…you called me Harry."

"Excuse me?"

"At Stark Manor, when Malfoy was going to…you…you called me Harry." He shrugged, a small smile still on his face.

Diana's heart sped up as she vividly recalled the incident, and just how close her partner had been to getting a dagger in the stomach. But she managed to disguise it well, and sarcastically replied, "That's your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," Potter admitted, shrugging again. "It's just…you've never called me Harry in the entire time I've known you."

Diana sighed impatiently. "Would you _like_ me to call you Harry?" she asked in a patronizing tone. But she honestly wondered if perhaps she'd been offending him by calling him by his last name all this time; after all, it _had_ been the name Malfoy had called him by last night, and perhaps Harry didn't want to be reminded of his old enemy's cold drawl. But Harry shook his head.

"No…no, Potter's fine," he replied with another quick grin.

"Well, great. Glad we established that," Diana replied cynically. She realized that that probably sounded quite lame, and decided it would be wisest just to shut her mouth.

The dark-haired Auror felt goosebumps begin to rise on her arms as the wind picked up again. The cool breeze ruffled her short hair. A very small part of her wondered if Potter would offer her his cloak again. Diana scolded herself, but glanced over at him anyway; his cloak was still slung over the railing, and he seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to offer it to her now. Something suddenly stirred in Diana's memory, and she turned around to look sideways at her partner, leaning her elbows against the ledge.

"Potter," she began, her eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Can I ask you a question?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "What sort of question?"

"First promise me that you'll answer it truthfully."

Potter fidgeted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "What sort of question?" he repeated uncertainly.

Diana rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to ask you what colour underwear you're wearing or anything. It's just a simple question."

Harry sighed, and then hesitated. "Fine," he agreed finally. "Ask away."

Diana smiled triumphantly. "How did you get caught in Egypt?"

Harry's face fell and he swiftly turned around to look at the view again. "My underwear is white," he answered with false enthusiasm.

Diana almost snorted with laughter, but she managed to maintain her probing, determined expression. "Don't be a smartass, Potter. Answer the question."

"Why's it mean so much to you, anyway?" Harry challenged.

"Because my partner never gets caught," Diana replied, jutting out her chin and raising her eyebrows at him. Harry sighed in defeat and returned his gaze to the Hogwarts grounds.

"Because they knew about you, all right?" he muttered gruffly, his neck turning a bit pink. "I took off because I found out that a group of them had discovered there was an agent keeping track of their activity in Cairo…they thought there was just one of us…and they were going to go after us. So…I left, and I let them catch me so that they'd think I was the one agent in Cairo, and they wouldn't go after _you_." He said all this very quickly and then looked up at the sky, his ears growing pink as well.

Diana could only stare at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. There was a long silence between them, until Diana finally found her voice.

"You…_idiot!" she exclaimed. "You deliberately walked into a trapped and allowed yourself to get captured?! You could've been hurt! Or killed! You were tortured, for Merlin's sake!" she ranted incredulously. "_Why_ must you always be the hero, Potter?! Couldn't you have just __told me that they knew we were there before you decided to go all self-sacrificing and got yourself captured? And I came to look for you, like the idiot I am, so you could've gotten us __both imprisoned in the tomb that time forgot!"_

Harry mouthed wordlessly, and then sighed. "I just didn't want to see you get hurt," he muttered, turning away from her again.

"That's right," Diana snapped, not really listening and continuing her tirade, "you just didn't want to see…" she trailed off and blinked, staring hard at him. Diana felt a slight flush in her cheeks, and she let the words die on her lips. Suddenly, she realized that his sacrifice had meant that she could continue her job in Cairo and gather essential information.

But Potter's actions had gone way beyond the call of duty. He had done it to keep her out of danger. And when it came to Harry's crazy hero tendencies, he usually only did the brave-and-noble thing for the people he truly cared about. Diana tried to ignore the fact that her heart had sped up again.

_Honestly, Drago, when did you become such a sap? She snapped at herself. She was letting her barriers down again, all because of Potter; Potter and his stupid good listening skills and infectious laugh and noble tendencies and nice soap smell. Diana clenched her fists and glared at him._

"I am your partner, _Harry_," she said brusquely. "And I can take care of myself. So next time you decide to go and do something all noble, let me know, will you? Because you'll probably just end up getting us both killed."

Potter didn't reply, and he didn't look at her; he only dropped his eyes to the ground silently. Diana desperately tried to ignore the pull at her heartstrings, and turning around, she began to quickly walk away.

Before she could even reach the doors, however, Diana had slowed, feeling guilt wash over her. Perhaps she'd been a bit harsh. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she sighed heavily.

"Look, Potter – " Diana began apologetically as she turned around again. But to her surprise, she bumped right into Harry's chest as she whirled back around. Evidently, he had started to follow her, an apology on his lips as well.

They both went very still for the briefest of seconds, only centimetres away from each other. The only thing Diana's brain could register was that lovely soap smell, stronger than ever.

Then, before Diana knew what was happening, her hands were cupping Harry's clean-shaven, smooth face, his arms were around her waist, and their lips were meeting with a hungry eagerness. Before she could stop herself, Diana pressed her body to him as the kiss grew even more passionate and intense. Her head spun as an overwhelming, wonderful sensation filled her entire body. Every emotion she felt, every spark between them, was doubled as Harry's intense emotions filtered through to her through their bond, adding to her own. Diana almost forgot who and where she was as her hands moved to the back of his neck, sifting through his wet hair, and his hands ran up and down her spine, sending electric sensations coursing through her.

A tiny voice somewhere in Diana's head screamed its disapproval at her, reminding her that she prided herself on restraint, that she had emotional barriers in place for a reason, that she was letting down every defence she had carefully built up around herself over the years.

_To hell with you, Diana mentally retorted to the tiny voice. The voice surrendered and disappeared as Harry's lips moved against hers eagerly, passionately. Her body seemed to fit just right against his. Diana felt wonderfully dizzy, and the bond on her wrist was burning. Had she known that the tension between them and their occasional awkward silences would translate into _this_, Diana would have let down her defences long, long ago._

Harry finally pulled away slowly, though he didn't release his grip on her, and Diana reluctantly opened her eyes. Both of them were quite breathless, and Diana was sure that her face was as flushed, and her ears were as red, as Harry's. He took a deep breath and searched her eyes uncertainly, and then a grin slowly spread over his face.

"…Well," Harry managed to breathe with a nervous laugh.

"Well," Diana replied, still feeling tingles run through her body. She fought the urge to run, to get out before she could get hurt. But surprisingly, she just laughed as well, and then pulled him towards her again by his cloak, closing her eyes as her lips readily met his again.

***

Any student who happened to be strolling on the Hogwarts grounds would have no doubt been curious about the large group of grown men standing below the hospital wing balcony, their necks all craned upwards. Thankfully, the students all seemed to be enjoying their breakfast indoors, and no one else was around to ask questions. The Aurors dropped their gazes and awaited the news as Joel Landers lowered the Omniculars he held in his hands.

"Well?" Jeremy asked impatiently, having recovered from the Cruciatus curse performed on him after a good night's rest.

Joel just sighed and nodded solemnly in response. This was met by a few triumphant cheers, an "About time," from Owen Darnell, and quite a bit of dejected grumbling as half the Aurors began to dig into their pockets unhappily.

"All right, all right, everyone settle down," Joel said, reaching into his pocket and removing a crumpled piece of parchment. He glanced down at it. "Okay…Ian owes Owen and Robbie five galleons, Radcliff owes Owen and Jameson _ten galleons, I owe Robbie ten sickles and a drink at the Three Broomsticks, and I owe Jeremy…" Joel's eyes widened, "twenty galleons?!"_

"That's right, Joel, old boy," Jeremy laughed, rubbing his hands together. Joel muttered under his breath as the rest of the Aurors began to exchange coins. 

"Oh, Di," Joel sighed wistfully, glancing upwards as he rummaged around in his robes for his wallet. "You broke my heart, and _now you're costing me twenty galleons."_

"Cough it up, Landers," Jeremy said unsympathetically, extending his hand gleefully.

Joel counted out twenty golden coins and slapped them into Jeremy's outstretched palm, grumbling.

***

Ron protested sleepily as something tickled his nose. He tried to groggily swat whatever it was away without opening his eyes, but the thing did not move, and was now brushing against his face. Weighing his options, Ron decided that whatever it was wasn't all _that_ annoying, and he happily tried to sink back into his deep sleep. But now Ron's mind was awake even if his body wasn't, and his brain began pestering him with annoying questions. There seemed to be something very important that he had to remember…something he had to check on…

_Stark.__ Scrolls. Hermione. The memories of the previous night abruptly hit Ron like a Bludger, and he quickly opened his bleary eyes, trying to determine his whereabouts._

He was greeted by the sight of Hermione's beautiful face, lying next to his on the pillow. The tickling he had felt had been strands of her hair brushing against his face. Hermione's eyes were also open, and a small smile was playing across her lips.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," Ron whispered back hoarsely. As his sleep-blurred vision began to improve, Ron could see that her cheeks were flushed, and some colour had come back into her face. Her eyes were no longer glittery or vacant, but full of warmth, and her lips were red again instead of bloodless. Her hair was a complete mess; but then, it always was. Ron closed his eyes again as relief swept over him. It had worked. She was still very much alive, and she was healthy. The small cot creaked as Ron reached out and pulled her closer to him, kissing her hair, her forehead, and finally, her lips. Hermione wrapped her arms around his body and snuggled closer to him, kissing all Ron's aches and pains from the previous night away.

"_Ahem."_

Ron yelped and rolled backwards, only to discover that there was nowhere to roll. With a dull thump, he fell off the bed and landed in a heap on the ground. Hermione quickly sat up in the cot, her hair flying, blushing furiously. Madam Pomfrey gave the two of them a very cold, disapproving look.

"I see you're both feeling _better_," the hospital matron said curtly. "Well…if you don't _mind, I'd like to send you both on your way, then." She swiftly closed the curtains with a sour look on her face. Ron sat on the floor, staring at where the hospital matron had been, and Hermione winced as they heard a door slam not far off._

The two of them exchanged looks, and then burst out laughing.

Ron rose off the floor, rubbing his behind where he'd fallen, laughing madly. Hermione giggled hysterically for a few moments, and then their eyes locked, both pairs twinkling with humour. Ron quite suddenly bent down and held Hermione to him tightly. Surprised at this rather abrupt change in emotion, Hermione nevertheless hugged him back.

"Merlin, I thought I was going to lose you," Ron muttered over her shoulder. He drew back and gave her a quick, fierce kiss that took her breath away. "Don't ever go and do reckless, daring, and/or heroic things again, understand?"

"I don't plan on it," Hermione admitted, giving him a dazzling smile. She sighed as Ron sat down on the cot facing her, and reached out to gently cradle his face in one hand. "I would have _never_ done that a year ago, you know," Hermione said seriously. "In fact, I would have avoided this entire business at all costs. It would have interfered with my perfect little life, and I probably would have ignored it."

"Shows what a good influence I am," Ron said teasingly, bending his head to kiss her nose. It was good to joke; all he wanted to do was ignore everything that had happened last night, and move on with their lives. Hermione was fine, Harry was fine, and the Muggles and Muggle-borns were safe. That was all he needed to know. Ron smoothed Hermione's hair and kissed her curly head again. He was rarely this affectionate, especially in public, but nearly losing Hermione had had quite the effect on him. He would never take her for granted again.

"It shows what a complete idiot I was," Hermione said with a hint of disgust in her voice. "Don't ever let me become like that again."

"I don't plan to," Ron promised, quickly kissing her again. "You saved the world, Hermione Granger," he said with an air of shock and admiration. "How's it feel?"

"Tiring," Hermione confessed, laughing. "Lucky you took early retirement from the world-saving business."

Ron smiled and reached out, gently pushing her hair out of her face. Hermione grew quiet and sobered. "What happened to the Starks? And Malfoy, and – "

"They were all taken into custody," Ron explained. "And I'm thinking some very harsh new laws are going to be put into place concerning Time Turners."

"And Harry, and the others?"

"I remember them being taken here," Ron commented, rubbing his chin. He briefly pulled back the curtains to see an empty hospital wing. It must have been at least mid-afternoon, and though many of the beds were messy from being slept in, any other signs of the Aurors were gone. Ron let the curtains fall back into place. "They must have showered and eaten here, and then they probably Apparated back to London. But I think Pomfrey fixed everyone up last night. They're probably all fine if they're gone."

"And the scrolls?" Hermione demanded.

"Taken back to the Ministry, I presume."

A frown darkened Hermione's face. "So…they weren't destroyed…when I read…?"  
Ron shook his head, and Hermione's shoulders slumped. "So they're still out there," she murmured dejectedly. "Someone like Stark could still waltz away with them, and it could happen all over again."

"It won't," Ron said firmly. But Hermione's expression had changed from dejected to pensive, and she had fallen silent. Ron could almost hear the wheels spinning in her mind.

"Ron? Hermione?" a high, nervous voice called from beyond their curtained refuge.

"Over here," Ron said loudly, swiping the curtains aside. A small, red-headed figure whirled around and rushed over to them.

"You're both all right!" Rowan cried ecstatically as she hurried over. She threw her arms around both Ron and Hermione, and then quickly released them, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," she murmured shyly.

"It's all right," Ron shrugged. "I realize I'm irresistible." Hermione playfully hit him, and he grinned at her.

"When I found out yesterday that you two were missing…and I heard all the students talking about some people searching the grounds in the middle of the night, I almost had a heart attack," Rowan said all in one breath. "What happened? Is everyone okay? Are the scrolls destroyed? Was it really Stark?"

Once the excited and agitated young woman had been calmed down, Ron and Hermione sat her down and re-lived the night's events for her, despite their reluctance to do so. Occasionally, Hermione lapsed into silence and let Ron take over the story, but once it was over and they had gotten all the painful details out in the open, she seemed to feel much better. Rowan's expression changed from one of shock, to horror, to admiration, and finally, relief. Hands clasped in her lap, the young Divination Apprentice sighed as she absorbed it all.

"That was why I couldn't See anything," she murmured thoughtfully. "Direct interference with the past causes chaos in the future, uncertainty…it was all foggy for me because fate had been tampered with."

"Oh, please," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "There's no such thing as fate."

Rowan looked very grave. "Oh yes, there is."

Ron looked at her skeptically. "You're telling me that I have absolutely no real choice in my life…that everything follows the course of a pre-determined path, and we don't have any say in the matter?"

Rowan shook her head. "Of course we do! Why do you think that the art of Divination is so imprecise? It's our choices that determine our fate…what I See in a crystal ball is not necessarily your future, but it is most definitely what one of the paths you have the choice of taking could lead to. What Dameon Stark did was destroy those paths. He tried to build his own roads that would take him where _he wanted to go. You could say that he didn't so much tamper with fate, as he tampered with choice."_

Ron stared at his former student, impressed. "Rowan," he said sincerely. "You will make a very, very good Divination teacher."

Rowan blushed a deep red, and Hermione smiled at her. "Where's Arden?" Hermione asked. Rowan suddenly jumped up, as if she had sat on something sharp.

"I'd almost forgotten!" she exclaimed. "It was horrible…the night you two left for the banquet, he was just sitting there one minute, and then his eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he was on the floor the next…I didn't know what to do, so I called Madam Pomfrey, and he was in here ever since…" Rowan trailed off and eagerly searched the empty hospital wing, as if expecting to see him. She fiddled with her necklace. "But if you reversed the effects, Hermione, he must be better too!" she said excitedly, her face glowing.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks again. "Well, maybe you should go find him," Ron suggested innocently.

"I think I should probably go find him," Rowan echoed absently, her hand unconsciously reaching up to smooth her fiery hair. She looked back to Ron and Hermione and smiled brightly. "But I'm _so_ glad you two are all right," she blurted out breathlessly. She hurried out of the hospital wing.

Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances, and then burst out laughing again. The dark events of the previous night were already fading fast. Ron reached out and grasped Hermione's hand. She basked him in the radiance of her smile again, and Ron squeezed the small hand tightly. He never wanted to let go of her again. 

At that moment, in his heart, a decision was made.

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Woo! The triumphant return of shameless smut. I love it.

That's not all, folks! A chapter and an epilogue to go, huzzah! I am empowered only by caffeine and Girl Guide cookies, which are really quite good. I'm partial to the vanilla ones myself, but my brothers like the chocolate, so, you know, to each their own. Wow, I'm aimlessly rambling. Got to go now and finish typing up Chapter 24 and the epilogue! Hooray!

P.S. This fic now officially has more reviews than Bury the Hatchet. This may or may not be because this fic has more chapters. *Shrug*

P.P.S. Just FYI, I'm currently revising and editing Bury the Hatchet for the Sugar Quill with the help of a beta reader, so a) it will be longer b) it will be much better and c) this fic will make a lot more sense as its sequel. Once it's done, I'll put the revised version up on ff.net, so keep an eye out for that!

P.P.P.S. The purple fuzzy has written a short monologue from Diana's POV inspired by this fic, which is totally awesome and amazingly in character, in my opinion. I think Fuzzy's going to put it up on ff.net, but I'm not sure when or under what name. Details to come!  

P.P.P.P.S. REVIEW! …Please? ^_^


	24. Through the Portrait Hole

**Author's Notes:** I really, really have to go to bed. Half an hour left 'til June 21st! Well, here at least. But I made a vow to myself to get it done, and get it done I shall. I apologize for the lack of anything funny or any sort of review songs in this chapter and the epilogue, but I just wanted to get this done. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go back and update with some sort of clever review song.

P.S. I love this chapter. ^_^

***

The trials of Draco Malfoy and Dameon Stark, also known as Ulysses Ademon, were held on the 20th of March. Both were found guilty of several misuse of magic charges, as well as crimes against Muggles charges, and both were sentenced to life in Azkaban for premeditated intention to murder. Ron, Harry, and several other Aurors testified at their trials, and did so with relish. At Ron's request, Hermione was not called as a witness. Hermione pretended to be miffed about this, but Ron could see she was secretly thankful. The last thing she wanted to do was relive that night in front of the Council of Magical Law.

Malfoy joined his parents in Azkaban on the 30th of March. Stark was sent to the prison the day after, and ended up suffering the fates of both his father and grandfather, despite the measures he'd taken to prevent that from ever happening.

The elder Dameon Stark was escorted back to his time by several members of the M.L.E.S., Dumbledore, and a few Aurors. Despite all Ron's attempts to get any other information about this expedition out of Harry and Dumbledore, it remained top-secret and classified.

The Ministry elections were held _before_ the public knew of Stark's true identity and of his arrest. Issac Crump won by a landslide. The first thing he did as re-elected Minister for Magic was put in place several new laws concerning Time Turners.

Both the _Daily Prophet and Muggle newspapers across the country sported the same, baffling headlines. The mysterious illness that had swept the country, and had plagued Muggle-kind, disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The Ministry of Magic wisely decided to keep any mention of the Scrolls of Scuro out of the papers, and out of the public. Therefore most wizards and all Muggles were completely flabbergasted, but pleasantly surprised, at the sudden recovery of anyone who had been ill. Hermione had reversed the effects of the Scrolls of Scuro before the magic could even begin to work, and so the effects of the other four scrolls were never felt._

To everyone's delight, all Muggle and Muggle-born students soon returned to Hogwarts, and were met with much celebration and quite a few riotous parties in certain house common rooms. Arden Roberts, and a few other Muggle-born teachers on staff, recovered as quickly as Hermione had, and things at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were soon back to normal.__

The months after the incident at Stark Manor were some of the best of Ron's life. Almost losing Hermione caused him to want to spend every waking minute with her, which was somewhat difficult considering the fact that they both had classes to teach all day. But, just for fun and partly to annoy her, Ron made it a habit of showing up in her Advanced Arithmancy class every day after lunch, when he had a spare period, to ask to borrow  random classroom items – a spare piece of chalk, a few pieces of parchment, etc. Professor Granger attempted to act as if this annoyed her greatly, but Ron knew she loved it.

Professor Weasley returned to teaching with renewed enthusiasm, vowing to make up his lack of motivation in the classroom for the past few months. He even managed to squeeze in a few class trips to the Haunted Swamps a few miles away from Hogwarts, where his students would gleefully run around for a few hours, blasting the hell out of Hinkypunks. Hermione greatly disapproved of these class trips.

After the incident at Stark Manor, at times Hermione would fall into brief bouts of silence, or would complain of pounding headaches. Though Ron never said anything out loud because of the risk of upsetting her, he suspected that this was still due to the residual Stark had left within her. But as the weather became warmer and the memories of that night gradually faded away, these quiet spells became fewer and far between, and Hermione was her bossy, stubborn, wonderful self again. Occasionally, she would stop mid-conversation or abruptly drop what she was doing with an excited look in her eyes, and would hastily retreat to the library. But this was so normal for Hermione that Ron thought nothing much of it at the time.

The hands-off policy remained during school hours, but this did not defer Ron and Hermione from making the most of after-school hours, or weekends. Ron didn't mind acting professional during school hours, because it only made the stolen glances in the hallways between classes or the smiles they shared across the table in the Great Hall even more special. It was almost as if they were making up for not being able to do the sneaking around thing during their own days as Hogwarts students.

All this time, the question that had begun to form in Ron's heart that day in the hospital wing was always on his lips, and he found himself acting rather jittery or nervous whenever he thought of the object he had begun to carry about in his pocket. But every time an opportunity presented itself, Ron's palms got sweaty, his tongue seemed to go all thick, and he couldn't get the words out. Time after time he chickened out, and so in his pocket the object remained.

There was also a growing suspicion which Ron harboured, and as time wore on, it nagged at him more and more. It had begun with Hermione's dreams concerning the scrolls, and her predictions and hunches that fateful night at Stark Manor had only strengthened Ron's theory. So this was how, on a sunny day in May, Ron found himself up in the stuffy warmth of the Divination Tower, waiting impatiently below the trapdoor with Arden Roberts.

"Ugh," Arden said, shuddering. "Don't tell Rowan I said this, but this place gives me the creeps. It's all stuffy, and there's that perfumey smell…and it always makes you drowsy and delusional and then you start thinking you hear or see things that aren't actually there…"

Ron stared at him and blinked slowly. "I think that's just you, Roberts."

"They've been up there for a really long time," Arden commented, ignoring him. "What kind of tests could you possibly do to find out if someone's a Seer? I remember in third year Divination I had to look into a crystal ball, and I just sat there and made a load of crap up, and I passed." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm a Seer and I just don't know it. I should get Row to test me too."

"No, I think what happened was Trelawney passed you so that she wouldn't have to see your face again when you would have had to repeat third year Divination," Ron said wryly.

Arden shrugged. "Probably." He shook his head and glanced at the trapdoor. "How in the world did you get Hermione to agree to this?"

It hadn't been easy, Ron reflected. Trying to convince Hermione that she perhaps had the makings of a Seer had been as easy as trying to convince the other Gryffindor boys back in second year that there were giant spiders living in the Forbidden Forest. But eventually, she had agreed, if only to "put to rest these ridiculous ideas you seem to have".

Ron didn't want Hermione to have the makings of a Seer. He liked her just the way she was, without any future-predicting tendencies. But the idea had been nagging at him for so long, that he just had to know. Plus, he knew how much her dreams had haunted her…he just didn't want to see her continue to have nightmare-plagued nights.

Ron started as the trapdoor opened, and Hermione, then Rowan, soberly descended down the rope ladder. Ron looked at them expectantly, and when he was met with silence, both he and Arden demanded, "Well?"

Rowan and Hermione exchanged grave looks. "Professor Trelawney was right," Rowan said solemnly. A smile began to form on her face. "She _does_ have a mundane aura."

Hermione smiled proudly. "Evidently, I wouldn't know a precognitive vision if it slapped me in the face."

Rowan went red. "I didn't say _that…"_

"Well, you meant it, and good riddance!" said Hermione matter-of-factly. "I think I'd go mad if I was a Seer. Whatever put such a funny idea into your head, Ron?"

"Well, your dreams, of course," Ron explained rather sheepishly, although he felt as relieved as Hermione was. "And…your hunches…that night."

"Well, the dreams can be easily explained," Rowan said. "Do you remember I told you that when something traumatizing, or something particularly important, is going to happen in someone's life, they could start Seeing things, even if they aren't very talented in the art of Divination?"

It sounded vaguely familiar to Ron. He remembered Rowan saying something of the sort that day in his office, when she had confessed about knowing about the scrolls. "That's right," Ron said slowly, "so she Saw in her dreams what she was going to do under Imperius. It's like her mind was warning her."

Hermione's face had become paler than usual, and she pressed her lips together firmly. The memories were still too fresh for her to talk about them so casually. "So that was just a fluke?" she tried to say normally. "It won't happen again?"

"I don't think so," Rowan said pensively. "You haven't had any nightmares lately, have you?"

Ron felt his face grow warm as he and Hermione exchanged quick glances. They hadn't gotten much sleep lately for Hermione to _have_ nightmares.

"No," Hermione replied quickly, her paleness disappearing as her cheeks turned pink as well.

"That still doesn't explain about her hunches and her predictions that night at Stark Manor," Ron pointed out.

"That was only due to her link with Dameon Stark at that time," Rowan explained. Hermione's eyes dropped to the ground. "It had nothing to do with being a Seer."

"Well, then, that settles it," Hermione said loudly in what Ron had grown to recognize as her I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this-any-longer tone.

"Satisfied that she won't be predicting your every move now, Ron?" Arden asked teasingly.

Ron grinned and said, "I suppose." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well done then, Rowan," Arden said approvingly. He grinned and nudged her as an idea hit him. "Hey, you could start up a business, you know. There's plenty of Muggle frauds out there charging people twenty pounds a pop for psychic predictions, and they just make stuff up."

Rowan's eyes widened. "_Really?_ That's horrible!"

Arden laughed. "Yeah, people will believe anything. All they need to see is a realistic-looking crystal ball and some fancy scarves, and they'll lap it up."

Hermione snorted. "Well, let's go then, shall we? It's nearly time for supper."

"Oh, I have to clean up the classroom first," Rowan said. "Professor Trelawney likes everything to be dusted and tidy every morning…"

"Slave driver," Ron muttered.

"I'll stay with you," Arden offered. Rowan blushed prettily, but nodded shyly.

"Fine, we'll see you two later, then," Ron shrugged. "Roberts, we still on for a drink and a game of chess later?"

"Most definitely," Arden replied. "Except this time, I'm bringing _my chess pieces."_

"Fair enough. It's not like you'll win either way," Ron said, grinning wickedly. He took Hermione's arm in his and prepared himself for the long, dizzying walk down the Tower stairs. "Thanks again, Row."

"Yes, thank you, Rowan," Hermione echoed as Ron dragged her along. "I'm sorry for wasting your time and all."

Rowan just smiled in her shy way, and Ron and Hermione turned the corner, beginning to head down the stairs. Ron waited for Hermione to make some comment, and sure enough, he was not disappointed.

"See how silly you were being?" she scoffed. "Why would you think that I was a Seer?"

"I just wanted to be sure," Ron muttered. "I…I just didn't want you to have to go through that…whole ordeal again."

Hermione stopped on the stairs, furrowing her eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know…with the dreams and everything…and…I know it took its toll on you, and…I guess I just didn't want you to blame me for causing chaos in your neat and tidy little life again," Ron blurted out quickly. Hermione stared at him, and Ron cleared his throat.

"I'll always remember you saying, 'You showed up at this castle out of the blue to make my life difficult', or something along those lines. I guess I just…I felt awful that you were dragged into this in the first place, and I just…wanted to make sure that you wouldn't have to go through those nightmares…or anything…again."

Hermione paused and stared at him, sighing deeply. "Ron," she said seriously. "Whatever I said last year…please forget that I ever said it. Because I didn't mean it. Okay?"

Ron searched her eyes for a moment, and then smiled in relief. "Okay." Hermione smiled back at him and softly kissed his lips, and suddenly Ron's palms became sweaty and his stomach seemed to disappear as he remembered the object in his pocket.

_Now?_ thought Ron, butterflies tap-dancing in his stomach. He slowly reached towards pocket and then, nervousness causing him to chicken out yet again, he faltered. Afraid that he would end up blurting out the question he'd been meaning to ask by accident, he broke away from Hermione abruptly.

"I…er…forgot to tell Arden…what time to meet me at the Three Broomsticks!" Ron said rapidly. Hermione blinked, puzzled. "Er…meet you in the Great Hall!" With that, he quickly turned and started jogging back up the staircase, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. The further he got from Hermione, however, the more he started feeling like an idiot.

_Stop acting like a fourteen-year-old. You have to just suck it up and do it, Weasley,_ Ron told himself firmly.

_But what if it's all wrong? Or if she doesn't like it? Or if she thinks it's too soon? Or if you mess it up?_ The paranoid voice in his subconscious squealed.

Ron sighed and stopped walking. "Stupid brain," he muttered. There was no point in going back down to Hermione now - he would just look like an idiot. Ron slowly continued to climb the stairs again. Perhaps he could help Rowan and Arden clean up, and then go down to the Great Hall.

Ron slowed as he reached the corner that would lead to the trapdoor landing. It seemed that Arden and Rowan were not getting any cleaning done; rather, they were both chattering. Ron heard Rowan's laughter, and Arden's warm chuckle. Intrigued, Ron peeked around the corner.

Rowan and Arden were standing together, a warm glow in Rowan's cheeks, and a bright smile on Arden's face. Rowan was talking animatedly about something, while Arden listened, hands in his pockets.

" – and of course, Roger was looking for the perfect way to get Professor Trelawney back for that comment she made about Seeing him spending the rest of his life begging for change in Diagon Alley," Rowan chattered on, giggling.

Ron snorted. 

"So," Rowan continued, taking a deep breath, "Professor Trelawney was telling all of the students to swirl their teacups and whatnot, and then they poured out the tea and were looking at the dregs, and Roger says in the most innocent voice, 'Oh Professor, could you tell me what my tea leaves mean?'. And of course Professor Trelawney hurries over there and peers down at the teacup," Rowan said all in one breath. She suddenly took on the air of the Divination Professor, and Arden grinned widely. "Oh _yes, my dear," Rowan said breathlessly in imitation, "This clearly shows many _hardships_ in your future…"_

Ron's eyebrows were beginning to raise higher and higher. First of all, he'd never heard Rowan speak so much in her entire life, especially in front of Arden Roberts. Second of all, he would have never dreamed that she could do, or would do, such an accurate impression of Trelawney. Thirdly, Arden was looking at her in quite a different way than he usually did. There was amusement and laughter in his eyes, but also something far more serious as he studied Rowan's lively face and expressions.

"So I guess in the fifth year Transfiguration class they're turning teacups into toads," continued Rowan, oblivious, "and by now Professor Trelawney's nose is practically _in_ the teacup, of course. So Roger nonchalantly reaches over with his wand, and turns the teacup into a toad." She started giggling uncontrollably. "Professor Trelawney screams at the top of her lungs, jumps backwards, and Roger says, 'Bet you didn't See _that_ coming'."

Both of them burst into laughter. Rowan bit her lip and attempted to stifle her giggles with one hand. Arden's laughter died away as he fixed her with that stare again, a lopsided grin beginning to form on his face.

"Well, needless to say, Professor Trelawney wasn't very happy about _that," Rowan continued, still giggling. "And so she takes Roger by the arm and she – "_

Rowan was cut off as Arden abruptly leaned forward and quickly kissed her on the lips. She froze, eyes wide, and Arden pulled away sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry," he blurted out.

Rowan did not reply. She only stared forward, eyes practically bulging out of her head.

"Aw, geez," Arden muttered, his cheeks beginning to turn red, "I'm really, really sorry Row…I dunno what came over me, it's just you were standing there and laughing and you're really pretty when you smile and stuff…argh, but I _thought_ you might react like this since I was a teacher when you were a student here and everything, but we're only a few years apart, so it's not really – "

He was then interrupted as Rowan Richardson, possibly the shyest, quietest, and most introverted girl Ron had ever met, threw her arms around Arden's neck and kissed him back. Arden raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then he grinned against her lips and returned the favour.

Ron decided that this was probably the best time to slip away, and so slip away he did, grinning to himself.

***

Somehow, May slipped into June without Ron noticing, and before he knew it, he had exams to create and to mark. Having gone through the torturous experience of creating written exams once before, Ron opted for exams à la Lupin – physical exams which would test the students' knowledge by pitting them against the creatures they'd learned about that particular year. These exams were a huge success, and were _much_ easier to mark. After watching Hermione furiously mark Arithmancy exams for five hours straight one night, Ron brightly suggested that she should create some sort of obstacle course in which students would have to use their knowledge of Arithmancy to keep themselves alive. Needless to say, she was not impressed.

Soon, the students were taking down posters on their dormitory walls, exchanging addresses and, in the Muggle-born students' cases, phone numbers for the summer, and packing up their belongings. After their annual, teary farewell to the students from the castle lawns, the staff headed up to the staff common room and festively celebrated their departure.

"To exams!" Professor Sinistra exclaimed, raising her mug of Butterbeer. "May we not have to mark them again until next year!"

"Hear, hear!" her peers echoed cheerfully, banging their mugs together. Everyone, save for the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress, had showed up for the staff's classic end-of-the-year party. Professor Flitwick had charmed one of the sofas into crooning popular songs, Professor Willows had brought up enough food from the kitchens to feed a small army, and Professor Woods had mysteriously disappeared and then re-appeared with an ample supply of Butterbeer, ale, and plenty other alcoholic beverages.

"To ze students!" Professor Bouchard cried. "May we enjoy our two months of freedom from ze little brats!"

"I take it that means he's coming back next year," Ron muttered in disappointment, sitting side-by-side with Hermione on one of the long couches. Hermione tried not to smile and shushed him.

"To those of us who are returning," Professor Willows called out, raising her glass, "and to those of us who won't be coming back," she said sadly, glancing at Professor Trelawney. The old Divination professor had become quite emotional, and daintily dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Hear, hear!" Ron muttered enthusiastically under his breath. Hermione nudged him with her elbow, and Ron choked on his ale, causing Hermione to clap a hand to her mouth to stifle laughter.

"And to those of us who've been promoted!" Arden said enthusiastically, grabbing Rowan by the waist and drawing her into the limelight. She blushed furiously and stared at the ground.

"Cheers!" everyone called, clinking their glasses together.

"Want to get out of here?" Ron murmured in Hermione's ear.

Hermione smiled and nodded, then allowed Ron to pull her to her feet. He led her through the crowd of teachers, past a rather tipsy Professor Flitwick and a very ruddy-faced Professor Woods, out of the staff common room and into the very quiet hall outside.

"Well, they sure know how to throw a party, I'll give them that," Ron commented, swinging Hermione's hand back and forth as they walked down the hall. Hermione giggled and nudged him to stop it.

"They do it every year," she said, shaking her head. "You'd think they were a bunch of teenagers, the way they carry on past midnight in there."

Ron suddenly snorted with laughter. "I just had the most fantastic mental picture of McGonagall dancing around with a lampshade on her head."

Hermione tried not to laugh, and failed. "Oh no, she never comes," she said, shaking her head and letting her curls fly. "Neither does Albus."

"Hm. I wonder what they do all summer," Ron mused.

Neither of them knew.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked curiously. They were still hand-in-hand, and as they both turned an all-too familiar corridor, her eyes lit up in recognition. "The Gryffindor common room?" she asked, puzzled, as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Why in the world are we going here?"

"For old time's sake," Ron said in satisfaction. The Fat Lady snorted in her sleep, and opened her eyes blearily to stare at the both of them.

"You two?" she said, yawning. "You haven't been here in awhile," she noted matter-of-factly.

_Over eight years, in fact, Ron thought, shrugging at the Fat Lady. Perhaps a painting had a very different concept of time. The Fat Lady raised her eyebrows as she became more and more awake, and eyed their entwined fingers._

"Well, it's about time," she declared. The portrait then cleared her throat importantly. "Password, please?"

"Lucky leprechauns," Ron said promptly. Hermione arched an eyebrow, but the Fat Lady obediently swung open. They both stepped through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room once more.

"Oh, my," Hermione breathed, releasing Ron's hand and walking into the empty room. "Nothing's changed."

A fire was roaring in the empty common room, and the chairs, tables, and sofas scattered about were still in the exact same positions as Ron had seen them last. Squashy, crimson armchairs still beckoned invitingly to them, and the long sofa before the fireplace still looked worn with age and the use of hundreds of students over the years. Hermione let out a contented sigh as she walked around, running her fingers lovingly over a particular table.

"This was _my_ table," she declared, "the one that I always came to study at. I loved this spot, set apart from the rest of the common room, in this cozy little corner…"

"Hermione Granger's fondest memory of her Hogwarts days: the table which she studied at," Ron said dryly, jumping onto the couch in front of the fire. It was still delightfully soft, and smelled of wood and fire.

"Well, it's a very nice table," Hermione shot back defensively. Ron rolled his eyes, but grinned to himself.

"So why did you want to come here?" Hermione asked curiously.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "For nostalgic purposes, I suppose. I missed the old place, and with all the students gone…it's all ours."

"And the password?" Hermione demanded, wandering over to the couch that Ron had stretched out across.

"Wrangled it out of Ernie Konalian before he left," Ron grinned, drawing his knees to his chest to give Hermione a place to sit before the fire. She gratefully sunk into the squashy couch.

"Oh, I am _so_ glad they're gone," she announced, "I don't think I could stand another class with those third-years of mine. They were the worst bunch I've ever taught. Did you know that four of them failed my class? _Four. How do you fail third-year Arithmancy?" she asked incredulously as Ron sat up and shifted down the couch, until his body was pressed against hers._

"Yep, Hogwarts is going to pot," Ron said wistfully, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Four third-years failed Arithmancy this year…next year it'll be five…and the year after that, six…pretty soon everyone will be failing Arithmancy, and you'll be out of a job."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione muttered half-heartedly, laughing. She suddenly straightened, and announced, "Ron, I have something to tell you."

Ron arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Hermione took a deep breath and fidgeted excitedly. It seemed that she had been dying to tell him this for quite some time, and Ron smiled to himself. "I've been working on a spell," she began, "which would destroy the Scrolls of Scuro."

Ron sat up straighter. "You _have?"_

"Yes," Hermione said excitedly, her eyes lighting up. "It was such a simple idea, really, but since the reversal process was so simple, I thought that maybe it would work. The power of the scrolls is stored in the words, correct? So I began to think about it, and I thought, what if I took a well-known spell – the simple Erasing spell that you use to clear a piece of parchment and such – and changed a few things around. So I began working on it, and I simply added a few more layers to the spell, made it more powerful, and…" She paused to take a breath. "Well, I think I almost have it."

Ron could only stare at her. Stark had said that, in his future, a Hogwarts professor had unlocked the secret to destroying the scrolls. He had obviously been referring to Hermione. Perhaps it really was her destiny to rid the world of the Scrolls of Scuro forever.

"Hermione," Ron began sincerely, "you are brilliant. Absolutely…_brilliant_."

Hermione flushed with pleasure. "Well, of course it only works in theory, and it has to be tested, but…I'm quite confident," she admitted. "Only don't say anything to Harry or anyone just yet. I…want to approach Alastor Moody about this…on my own."

"My lips are sealed," Ron promised. Hermione smiled brightly, and then sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "What a year," she murmured.

"But we got through it again," Ron reminded her, kissing her forehead, "together."

"Together," Hermione agreed sleepily, nestling closer to Ron. His heart began to speed up, and the object in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy. This was it. It was the perfect time, the perfect place: back in the common room where they'd spent most of their teenage years together. Reflecting back, Ron realized what an absolute waste of time his seven years at Hogwarts had been, Hermione-wise. All they had had to go through would have been so much easier with Hermione by his side, like this. His heart pounding, and a strange ringing in his ears, Ron abruptly removed his arm from Hermione's shoulders and all but leaped off the couch, wringing his hands, which had suddenly become very slippery. Hermione shook herself awake and stared at him, her forehead creased.

"What? What is it?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows together.

"Hermione," Ron began nervously, shoving one hand into his pocket. "Er…I…we've been…er…" His tongue had gone thick again, and he couldn't seem to form a proper sentence. Ron drew his hand out of his pocket, his fist tightly clenched around the small object. "I…we…"

Hermione looked absolutely clueless. She smiled quizically and folded her arms. "Really, Ron, just spit it out."

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. "Hermione…Hermione…" He couldn't even get past her name. Ron mentally slapped himself.

Suddenly, to his horror, the object slipped out of his sweaty palm and dropped to the ground with what seemed like an ear-splitting crash. Ron stopped breathing and panicked. The golden object winked at him in the firelight, as if mocking him.

"What is that?" Hermione asked curiously. Ron snapped out of it and quickly bent to scoop up the tiny, golden object. He fumbled with it, and Hermione rose from the couch, a mischievous look in her eyes. She still looked completely oblivious as to what was really going on.

"Ron, what _are_ you hiding?" she asked with an impish grin. She took a step towards him, and Ron quickly took a step backwards, nearly tripping over a chair. He stumbled and righted himself, fumbling with the little object in his hands.

"Nothing," Ron blurted out, panicking. This wasn't how it was supposed to go at all. He had screwed it up royally this time. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously not _nothing," Hermione said, her curiosity piquing. Ron's heart sunk; it was the kind of interest and curiosity that Hermione would not soon let go of. She would stubbornly pursue him until she found out what it was he was hiding. Judging from the playful look in her eyes, she must have thought it was some kind of game. She took another step forward, and Ron took another step back._

"Really, Hermione, it's…it's nothing important…"

"Obviously it is, if you're hiding it like that," Hermione pointed out, still smiling.

_She doesn't suspect it at all, Ron inwardly groaned. __How can someone be so smart and yet so completely clueless? Just walk away Hermione…just walk away…can't you see I'm trying to do this right?_

But apparently she could not, because she took yet another step forward. Ron maintained his stubborn grip on the little golden object.

"Ron," Hermione said, now sounding impatient, "just show me what it is."

"Hermione, trust me," Ron said in a voice that was about an octave higher than his usual tone.

"Just let me see," Hermione demanded half-teasingly, hands on her hips.

"No!"

"Ron…"

"_No!_"

"Fine," Hermione said haughtily, drawing her wand from her robes. "_Accio_!_"_

To Ron's horror, the golden object, like a tiny Snitch, flew across the Gryffindor common room and into Hermione's awaiting grasp. She closed her fingers around it with a triumphant smile. Ron went very rigid and mouthed wordlessly as Hermione uncurled her fingers and stared into her palm.

Twinkling up at her was a beautiful gold ring, encrusted with a few tiny diamonds.

Hermione gaped at it, her eyes widening. Ron could only stare at her anxiously. She slowly raised her other hand to her mouth in shock, still staring at the ring in her palm. When she finally looked up at Ron, her eyes were teary and her face was flushed.

"Oh, Ron…" she managed to choke out.

Before either of them knew what was happening, they were in each other's arms, and Hermione was half-laughing, half-crying, clutching the gold engagement ring. Ron was grinning wildly. He was flying. He was on top of the world. He held Hermione to him in elation. His romantic plan for the proposal, and all the times he had carefully imagined this scenario, had just gone to waste. But somehow, this communicating without words, this simple…_understanding_ between them, was so much better.

"Will you, then?" Ron murmured huskily in her ear.

"Of _course_," Hermione managed to say through sobs of joy. She pulled away from him, laughing as she wiped away her tears and extended her left hand. Ron, relieved that the Muggle way of doing these things was the same as the wizard way, slipped the ring onto her slender finger, practically bursting with relief and joy.

Then the two of them were holding each other again, a picture of bliss in the empty Gryffindor common room. And despite the fact that things had not gone as Ron had planned, it was somehow _perfect._

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AWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Told you I love this chapter. I got to be quirky and funny and mushy again, after all that serious stuff before. Not that the serious stuff wasn't also fun to write…but this was even more fun.

Anyways…gonna post the epilogue now…REVIEW!


	25. Epilogue

**Author's Notes: ***Sniff* I can't believe it's over! But tomorrow…OotP! YES! I'm so excited! I did kind of want to do a spinoff featuring Harry and Diana…or perhaps the other Aurors I mentioned…but with OotP coming out, it seems kind of pointless. Bury the Hatchet and Perfect World were written with up to GoF as a spoiler…so this is it, folks. There won't be a third instalment, I'm afraid. But never fear…I still plan to finish those parodies of all the books, and to revamp Bury the Hatchet, and who knows…maybe after OotP I'll have some really good plot bunnies I can chase. Le sigh.

By the way…to anyone, in any review, who has said that I'm talented, or has said that I should be an author, or has praised this story in any way …thank you. You've made my year. ^_^

As Fatboy Slim would say…

We've come a long, long, way together.

Through the bad times and the good.

I'd like to celebrate you baby.

I'd like to praise you like I shoooooooooooooould!

And so all you loyal reviewers should be praised. Kudos to all of you. ^_^

Without further ado, I present to you: the epilogue of Perfect World.

*Sniff*

***

"He's always late!"

"Well, you know, sometimes he's busy saving the world and such…"

"Argh! I'm so nervous, though I can't possibly imagine why."

"Nervous? You're _nervous?_ How do you think I felt, with that ring in my pocket for over four months, trying to work up the nerve to ask you?"

"You still haven't worked up the nerve to ask me properly."

Professors Weasley and Granger were waiting impatiently in the Three Broomsticks for the third member of the trio to arrive. It was only a few days after Ron's proposal, and the pair had wisely kept their engagement quiet. The pair had agreed that Harry should be the first person to know, even before their families. They had sent him a cryptic message by owl to meet them in the Three Broomsticks 'for a drink'. As always, Harry was late, which seemed to agitate Hermione greatly. She was nervous about telling Harry, for some reason, and kept touching the gold ring on her finger, as if to make sure it was still there.

"Fine," Ron said crossly, "Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"

"Well, I _suppose," Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh. Ron grinned at her and kicked her under the table. She smiled mischievously and kicked back. This continued for a few moments, until Madam Rosmerta walked by and gave them both a queer look. They abruptly stopped and smiled innocently at her, then dissolved into snickers like two teenagers._

The few members of staff who hadn't left Hogwarts for the summer holidays yet had all noticed that the two of them had been strangely giddy the last few days. Hermione refused to take her ring off, and so she charmed it to be invisible when they were at the castle. The couple wanted to keep their engagement quiet as long as possible, especially at the school. But Ron suspected that at least Dumbledore knew anyway, just from the comments he made and the twinkle in his eyes when he looked at the two of them. This further enforced Ron's theory that, somehow, Dumbledore knew everything.

"Do you think he'll bring Diana?" Hermione suddenly asked anxiously. "Not that I have anything against her, but…I wanted it to be just us three…"

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would he bring Diana?"

Hermione gave him a superior look, as if she knew something he didn't. Ron just shrugged and replied, "Well, we'll ask her to take a walk if she comes."

"Oh, _that's polite," Hermione retorted._

Ron shrugged again, then grinned wickedly and lowered his voice. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"We're getting married."

Hermione couldn't help but smile widely at that. They both sat there in silence for a moment, grinning stupidly at each other and glowing with happiness.

"I'm here!" a familiar voice called. Ron and Hermione both turned to see Harry skid into the pub. He spotted them and rushed over, sliding into the empty chair next to Ron. "Sorry I'm late."

"For a guy who has the privilege of being able to Apparate anywhere he damn well pleases, you sure take your time getting places," Ron observed.

"Sorry," Harry repeated, giving them a roguish grin. "Diana wanted to go up to the castle to talk to Dumbledore, and since I was coming up here anyways, I told her I'd come with her and I lost track of time – "

Hermione gave Ron that superior, knowing look again. Ron blinked, puzzled.

"Harry," Ron suddenly asked. "What do you think he does all summer? Dumbledore, that is."

Harry also did not know.

"Anyway, what's up?" their bespectacled friend asked, smiling brightly.

"I'm _sorry_, do we need a reason to meet our best friend for a drink now?" Ron exclaimed, pretending to be offended.

"By the way, Harry, have I told you how nice you look without that stubble on your face?" Hermione asked sweetly. Harry had shaved off his goatee a few months ago, and Hermione took every opportunity to point out what an improvement it was.

"Yes, Hermione, only a billion times," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "So, what are we having to drink? Butterbeers all around, for old times' sake?"

Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement, and Harry rose from his seat to get the drinks from Madam Rosmerta, who had disappeared behind the bar again. As he walked away, Hermione smirked knowingly and glanced at Ron.

"What?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"Isn't it _obvious?" Hermione asked in her know-it-all voice. "Can't you see how happy he's been the last few months?"_

"Well, he was working pretty hard with the scrolls and everything," Ron said, shrugging. "He's probably just as relieved as we are that it's all over, and he's getting a well-deserved break now that things have calmed down."

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. "No, not _that sort of happy."_

"There's different sorts of happy?"

Hermione pretended to be breathless and excited. "'I told _Diana I'd come with her and I lost track of time,'" she mimicked._

Ron stared. "So?"

Hermione sighed. "Never mind. You're completely clueless."

"Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking about _you_ the other night…"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs as Harry returned, juggling three steaming mugs of Butterbeer. Being June, it was sweltering hot outside, but Ron would welcome a nice mug of Butterbeer any time. The three of them raised their mugs, grinning, and clinked them together.

Harry began to drink, but as he did so, his eyes strayed towards the gold ring glinting on Hermione's finger as she raised her mug to her own lips.

Harry choked on his Butterbeer.

Hermione winced; she had either forgotten to charm her ring that morning, or else she had left it visible to reveal to Harry when they told him about their engagement. She obviously hadn't realized that it was in plain sight.

"Is that…you…are you…?" Harry spluttered, eyes wide. Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling widely and exchanged glances with Ron. The two of them nodded at him, smiling excitedly, and Harry let out a sort of whoop.

"That's…that's…wow!" Harry exclaimed, putting a hand to his forehead in shock. "I can't believe…you two…wow!" he repeated, laughing. He leaned over the table to kiss Hermione on the cheek, and then he grinned wildly at Ron, who was sitting next to him. Ron grinned back as Harry extended his hand and the two of them shook hands enthusiastically. Harry sort of patted Ron on the back, and then awkwardly half-hugged him. The two of them quickly broke away and cleared their throats, trying to appear manly once more. By now, the entire pub was staring at them curiously, but Ron didn't really care.

"I can't believe this…you two…I mean, I always knew it would happen, but I figured I'd be about eighty by the time you two ended up together and Ron had worked up the nerve to ask you," Harry said wryly to Hermione. She smiled and glanced at Ron, eyes twinkling in amusement, evidently remembering what had happened in the Gryffindor common room.

"Have you set a date or anything?" Harry asked.

"Well, no, not yet," Hermione admitted, exchanging looks with Ron. "You're actually the first person we've told."

Harry's ears turned a bit pink, and he glowed with pride.

"Listen, Harry, mate…" Ron began, clearing his throat. "Er…I'd really like…I mean, Hermione and I would really like…well, there's no one else…wait, that came out wrong, I mean I wouldn't even _consider anyone else…" He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "Er…I really, really want you…to, uh…well, be my best man," he finished quickly. Hermione smiled into her Butterbeer as she took another sip._

Harry stared at him, and then a wide grin slowly spread over his face. "Well…_yeah! I mean, of course!" Harry exclaimed. He seemed to be debating whether to attempt to hug Ron again, and then seemed to decide that two hugs in one day was going overboard with the public-displays-of-affection-towards-another-guy thing._

Ron's grin seemed to stretch for miles; his face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. "Great! I mean, that's…well…brilliant!" he said in half-delight, half-relief.

"We're going to tell the Weasley's tomorrow night," Hermione explained, beaming, "and my parents next weekend…we're going up there for the weekend, I haven't seen them in ages."

"And then we're taking a vacation," Ron added, "so the wedding will probably be sometime next year." He grinned to himself as he said the word 'wedding.' It still seemed surreal.

"Wow. You're going to be Mrs. Weasley," Harry said in amazement to Hermione, readjusting his glasses. He suddenly snorted. "That's going to take some getting used to. Mrs. Weasley is Ron's mum, as far as I'm concerned."

"_Thanks, Harry," Hermione replied sarcastically._

"So who else will you have in the wedding party? Who's your maid of honour going to be, Hermione?" Harry asked eagerly, ignoring her sarcasm.

"Well…" Hermione glanced at Ron, and then back at Harry, "you can't say anything, but I was going to ask Ginny. I hope that's okay," she said hurriedly.

"Of course it's okay," Harry replied, smiling quizzically. He noted Hermione's look of scepticism, and added, "It's all right now. We're friends."

"Oh, good," Hermione breathed in relief. Harry chuckled. "And you can tell Diana, if you want," she added. "She'll be invited…I mean, I've known her for quite a while and she really helped us out last year…plus, she's…well…"

Harry gave an embarrassed smile, and Ron noted that his ears had gone pink again. "Sure…er, thanks."

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, mostly exchanging giddy smiles, and then suddenly Harry snorted loudly again.

"What?" Ron demanded.

"Well, I don't know if wizards do this, but Muggles do, and…I just thought of the perfect person to be your ring-bearer," he explained.

"Who?" Hermione asked politely.

Harry tried to maintain a straight face. "Dobby."

At the mental image of Dobby the house-elf in a miniature tuxedo, walking down an aisle with a large, velvet pillow holding their wedding rings, Ron burst out laughing. Hermione at first frowned; evidently, she did not approve of house-elves being the brunt of jokes. But as Harry and Ron roared with laughter, she started smiling despite her efforts, and soon all three members of the infamous Hogwarts trio were laughing hysterically at the picture of Dobby as a ring bearer. Harry and Ron had to hold their stomachs, they were laughing so hard, and Hermione's pretty laugh echoed throughout the pub, the ring on her finger flashing in the light.

And somehow, everything seemed right in the world.

**The End.******

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**Note: This portion which you are about to read was added ****06/23/03****, after I had finished reading OotP and had time to write hilarious/witty comments.**

Wow, Order of the Phoenix was a downer, eh?

But it was good. Very, very, good. Although Goblet of Fire's still my favourite book, possibly because @#!#$ DIDN'T die in it! (I will not reveal names, for I do not wish to spoil the fifth book for those who have not read it.) I am so incredibly sad about poor @#!#$. And yet it was almost as if @#!#$DIDN'T die, because you don't really @#!#$ actually DYING, persay…

But I am getting off-topic.

Thank you, thank you, thank you yet again to all of the people who have reviewed this fic, and especially those who took time out of reading OotP, or who read OotP and STILL came back to read this thing and/or review the last few chapters – blackcat, starlight diva, becsulet, enelya, Araedhel, jd, TaMara R, Dragon Flight, Daggerquill, hermione8meg, Moon Goddess, LadyoftheLake, fredngeorgegirl, Leesa, Ron_fan, HarryPotterFanFicGirl, Moine Weasley, rizzo, Loreli, HES GONNA ASK HER TO MARRY HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (lmao), Dejitaru Yami, the purple fuzzy (who, as I mentioned before, wrote a fanfic inspired by this one, entitled "It's Not Them" and is up on this site…I highly recommend it), Angela-Marie,  Hermione, anon, crammer, Padfoot, LKOK, and anyone who reviews after I post this - I appreciate it muchos.

Look for, on the review page of this fic and on my author's page, more updates and/or review songs, witty comments, and the like. After reading OotP I do have a few ideas running around in my head for a possible fanfiction…but we'll see what happens. And remember, BtH is being updated and soon posted on ff.net.

Bury the Hatchet 2.0…coming to an Internet Browser near you sometime this summer.

Have a great summer everyone, thanks for reading, and enjoy Order of the Phoenix!

~*SP*~


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